SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT 


BY 
CLARA   MARBLE   MUNROE 


BOSTON 

JAMES    H.   EARLE,    PUBLISHER 

178  WASHINGTON  STREET 

1900 


UNTO    HIM 

"WHO   GIYETH   SONGS   IN  THE   NIGHT," 

AND 

TO  MY   BELOVED   FATHER   AND   MOTHER 
WHO  DWELL   WITH   CHRIST   IN   THE 

MORNING   LAND, 

THIS   VOLUME   IS   GRATEFULLY   DEDICATED 
BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


M191962 


PREFACE 

It  is  difficult  to  produce  any  book,  however  well  writ- 
ten, that  will  meet  the  requirements  of  all  classes  of  peo- 
ple with  their  various  temperaments. 

This  little  volume  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Some 
will  find  herein  few  poems  they  think  worthy  of  perusal. 

But  those  who  have  walked  through  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow — who  have  "  loved  and  lost  awhile,1'  may  catch 
a  reflection  of  their  own  heart  experience. 

To  such  the  book  will,  it  is  hoped,  prove  a  comfort. 

Many  of  the  following  Songs  were  suggested  in  the 
night  season  ;  others  in  "  the  lonely  night  of  sorrow,11  or 
during  long,  weary  days  of  invalidism.  For  years  they 
have  been  withheld,  because  of  their  sacred  associa- 
tions ;  knowing,  however,  that  the  gift  which  costs  the 
greater  sacrifice  is  often  of  richer  value,  they  are  now 

humbly  and  prayerfully  submitted. 

C.   M.  M. 
April  12,   1900. 


SONGS   IN   THE   NIGHT. 


ONLY  A  SONG. 

I  call  to  remembrance  my  song  in  the  night." — PSALM  77  :6. 

IT  was  only  a  song  that  a  maiden  sang, 
With  a  careless  tone,  but  the  echo  rang 
In  the  heart  of  the  lad;  like  a  pure  white  hand, 
It  guided  him  over  sea  and  land. 

Only  a  song  from  the  lips  of  one 

Whose  mission  is  ended,  whose  brief  life  is  done  ; 
A  simple  carol,  that  after  all 

We  never  can  hear  but  the  tears  will  fall. 

Only  an  old,  old  fashioned  hymn, 

Sung  in  the  twilight,  gray  and  dim, 
By  mother's  side,  or  on  father's  knee, 

Yet  Time  can  not  blot  it  from  memory. 

Only  a  song  from  a  feeble  pen 

And  a  faltering  hand  and  heart,  but  then, 
Who  knows  ?     Perhaps  some  life,  once  sad 

In  sin,  was  made  to  rejoice  and  be  glad. 

Brief  as  a  song  is  this  life  of  ours, 

Fleeting  as  sunshine,  and  frail  as  the  flowers. 
Then  sing,  my  heart,  O  sing  and  be  strong ! 

Thou  shalt  one  day  join  in  the  "new,  new  song." 

February  18,  1885. 


SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 


HEAVEN. 

THERE  is  a  Land  beyond  this  world 
Of  sorrow  and  sin  ; 

There  are  beautiful  robes  and  golden  crowns. 
And  one  I  hope  to  win. 

'T  is  there  I  humbly  wish  to  go, 

To  dwell  among  the  blest, 
Where  the  "  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 

And  trie  weary  are  at  rest?' 

He  that  overcometh 

Shall  wear  the  robe,  Christ  says, 
And  dwell  with  him  forever, 

Through  all  the  endless  days. 

May  I  overcome  temptation, 

Faithful  be,  unto  the  end; 
And  at  length,  go  home  to  Heaven, 

When  the  Lord  for  me  shall  send. 

Composed  at  the  age  of  thirteen. 


TRUE  LOVE. 

HE  placed  in  her  hand  a  rosebud  fair, 
When  fell  the  summer  dew, 
And  he  whispered  soft  as  he  held  it  there, 
"  Far  truer  is  my  love  for  you 
Than  stars  above — 
For  you,  my  love  !  " 


A   LOWER  LIGHT. 


A  LOWER  LIGHT. 

IN  this  world  of  joy  and  sunshine, 
And  of  shadows  too, 
In  our  little  sphere  of  action, 
There  is  work  to  do. 

There  are  souls  weak  and  despairing, 

Far  in  Sin's  dark  night ; 
Just  a  word  or  prayer  may  change  their 

Darkness  into  light. 

There  are  hearts  bowed  down  in  sorrow, 

Sore  with  untold  grief, 
Waiting,  longing  for  some  kind  word, 

That  would  bring  relief. 

There  are  children  all  about  us, 

Children  full  of  glee  ; 
They  are  watching  for  examples, 

Watching  you  and  me. 

Oh,  be  earnest  in  the  battle  ! 

Faithful  be  and  true  ! 
Let  your  light  shine  brightly  :  you  will 

Soon  find  work  to  do. 

Let  your  life  show  plainly  that  you  're 

Standing  for  the  right : 
If  you  can  not  be  a  beacon, 

Be  a  lower  light. 

Composed  in  1877. 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


ARBUTUS. 

WHAT  is  so  rare,  so  pure  and  sweet, 
First  of  all  flowers  our  hearts  to  greet — 

Spring's  fairest  bloom  ? 
Scarce  when  the  snow  has  passed  away, 
Long  ere  the  gentle  month  of  May 
This  flower  finds  room. 

Eagerly  sought  by  youthful  bands — 
Lovingly  pressed  by  childish  hands, 

Are  these  wee  flowers  ; 
Picked  when  the  buds  are  small  and  pink, 
Found  under  dead  leaves,  near  the  brook's  brink, 

In  quiet  bowers. 

Sought  for  by  maidens,  young  and  fair, 
Sought  to  adorn  their  waving  hair, 

For  one  to  greet ; 

Blushing  to  hear  the  loved  one  say, 
Smoothing  curls  from  her  brow  away, 

"  Thou  art  more  sweet." 

Found  by  the  sick  one's  weary  bed, 
Treasured  till  sweetness  all  is  fled, 

Then  thrown  away. 
P^mblem  of  life,  so  fair  and  sweet, 
Till  the  Destroyer's  hastening  feet, 

Fade  the  bright  day. 

Wept  o'er  by  aged  ones  and  gray, 
Nearing  the  close  of  life's  brief  day, 
Murmuring  soft, 


THE  DESIRE   OF  TO-DAY. 


"  I  was  once  just  as  fresh  and  pure  ; 
Sorrow  did  ne'er  my  heart  allure ; 
Now  it  comes  oft." 

Laid  in  the  hand  of  one  who,  blest, 
Freed  from  all  sorrow,  is  at  rest, 

With  tranquil  brow ; 
Once  full  of  beauty,  life,  and  love, 
But,  in  the  regions  far  above, 

As  lovely  now. 

Trailing  Arbutus,  matchless  fair, 
Filling  with  fragrance  sweet  the  air, 

Be  thou  our  guide  ; 
Teach  us  to  be  as  meek  and  mild, 
As  thou  art  now,  so  fresh  and  wild, 

Spring's  purest  bride  ! 


Composed  in  1877. 


THE  DESIRE  OF  TO-DAY. 

IF  some  good  angel  should  take  my  hand, 
Over  me  stretch  a  magic  wand, 
Saying,  "Whatever  your  wish  may  be, 
But  speak,  and  it  shall  be  granted  thee  ;  " 
If  this  good  angel  should  cross  my  way, 
And  my  heart  feel  the  same  as  it  does  to-day, 
I  would  ask  not  for  honor,  wealth,  or  fame, 
Or  friends  to  love  and  revere  my  name  ; 
I  would  ask  not  that  beauty  in  all  its  grace, 


SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 


Might  sweetly  rest  upon  my  face ; 

Or  pray  that  wisdom,  in  all  its  power, 

Might  dwell  with  me,  from  hour  to  hour. 

What  I  would  wish  in  this  life  to  obtain, 

Rather  than  any  earthly  gain, 

Would  be  a  heart  that  is  free  from  sin : 

A  heart  that  has  Jesus'  peace  within. 

I  would  ask  not  that  over  the  world  so  wide, 
My  name  might  be  spoken  with  honest  pride, 
Because  of  some  noble  deed  I  had  done, 
Because  from  sin  many  souls  I  had  won  : 
Or  that  I  might  with  outstretched  hands 
Proclaim  the  Gospel  in  heathen  lands. 
All  I  would  ask  in  this  world  so  wide, 
Turning  from  worldly  wishes  aside, 
Would  be,  just  to  do  my  Father's  will, 
And  only  my  own  little  corner  fill. 

I  would  not  desire  that  when  I  die, 

My  faults  might  be  hidden,  my  virtues  raised  high ; 

I  would  ask  not  that  requiem  sad  be  sung, 

Or  sincere  hearts  with  grief  be  wrung; 

I  would  not  ask  that  o'er  my  grave, 

Rare  flowers,  with  rich  perfume  might  wave, 

What  I  would  wish,  when  I  leave  this  world, 

To  cross  Death's  river,  with  sails  unfurled, 

Would  be,  that  my  God,  in  mercy  and  love, 

Might  anchor  my  barque  in  the  haven  above. 

January  4, 
"  One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord." 


YOUR  LIFE-WORK. 


YOUR  LIFE-WORK. 

MANY  a  blossom,  sweet  and  lovely, 
Blooms  within  a  lonely  spot, 
Far  up  mountain,  or  in  thicket 
Where  the  human  eye  sees  not. 

Where  no  hand  is  stretched  to  gather, 

Or  to  count  the  petals  fair, 
When  there  's  none  to  breathe  the  perfume, 

That  it  spreads  throughout  the  air, 

Where  there  's  no  sound  save  the  loud  wind, 
Sighing,  moaning,  day  and  night, 

Lest  the  wild  hawk  'mid  his  screaming 
Pauses  on  his  winged  flight. 

But  the  eye  of  the  Almighty 

Can  pervade  the  hidden  spot, 
And  the  rain,  the  dew,  the  sunshine 

Show  that  flower  is  not  forgot. 

Sometimes  'tis  the  sweetest  flower, 

That  is  hid  from  mortal  eyes ; 
Purest,  which  without  companions, 

Lives  and  blossoms,  fades  and  dies. 

Many  an  emerald  blade  of  grass 
Helping  bless  the  earth  with  green, 

Filling  out  its  silent  mission, 
Is  passed  by,  unknown,  unseen. 


8  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

But  the  Father,  seeing  all  things, 

Blesses  it  with  equal  care, 
As  the  flower  and  spear  so  tender, 

In  the  garden  rich  and  rare. 

Every  leaf  in  the  great  elm  tree 
Is  protected,  nurtured,  fed. 

Every  living  thing  in  nature 

Prays — "Give  us  our  daily  bread." 

Every  minute  drop  of  water, 
E'en  the  smallest  drop  of  dew, 

By  the  busy  world  unnoticed, 
Has  its  duties  great  or  few. 

Every  leaflet  in  the  branches 

Of  the  great  trees,  gives  us  shade  ; 

Forms  the  cool  and  quiet  woodland, 
And  the  calm  and  lovely  glade. 

Oh,  my  friend,  despondent,  lonely, 
Do  not  think  your  life  in  vain  ; 

Oft,  the  flower  drooping  in  sunshine, 
Springeth  up  in  shade  again. 

Do  not  say,  "  My  life  is  useless ; 

I  am  weary  and  alone ; 
Had  I  given  me  some  grand  mission, 

Then  great  good  I  might  have  done.' 

Look  to  God  :  He  knows  your  weakness 
Only  trust  in  Him  and  rest, 

By  His  Spirit  He  will  teach  you 
Where  to  walk — He  knowest  best. 


A    LOCK  OF  PI  AIR. 


He  has  not  in  His  kind  wisdom, 

Made  you  for  a  river,  great, 
Bearing  ships  of  blessing  onward, 

Bearing  souls  to  Heaven's  gate  ; 

He  intends  you  for  a  brooklet, 

For  the  weary  passer-by ; 
Offer  him  the  cup  of  water, 

For  the  Master's  sake,  on  high. 

Though  the  least  of  these,  His  brethren, 

Yet  ye  do  it  to  Him,  still. 
All  the  mission  He  requires  you, 

Is  to  trust  and  do  His  will. 

1878. 


A  LOCK  OF   HAIR. 

HIDDEN  away  where  none  can  see, 
Save  the  young  girl,  who  tenderly 
Presses  it  often  to  her  heart, 
Murmuring,  "We  shall  never  part." 

Lying  upon  a  bed  of  down, 
Dearer  to  her  than  monarch's  crown, 
Rests  a  soft  lock  of  shining  hair — 
This  is  dark  brown,  but  her's  is  fair. 

O  maiden,  as  you  gaze  to-night 
On  that  gift,  precious  to  your  sight, 
May  always  it  as  sacred  be 
As  when  thy  lover  gave  it  thee. 


10  SOA'GS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

And  when  your  locks  are  silver  gray, 
And  you  have  reached  life's  closing  day, 
May  he,  whose  name  you  love  and  bless, 
Still  be  your  life  and  happiness. 

1877. 


LEANING  UPON   HIS    BREAST. 

John  13:  23.    - 

I  THOUGHT,  in   my  dream,  I  was  toiling  hard, 
And  working  for  Jesus,  too, 
For  I  was  weary  and  faint  of  heart, 

While  my  burden  more  heavy  grew ; 
And  I  said,  as  I  thought  of  the  work  to  be  wrought, 
"  It  is  more  than  I  can  do  !  " 

While  I  was  trembling  'neath  my  load, 

And  longing,  yes,  praying  for  rest, 
A  friend,  then  unknown,  came  softly  to  me, 

And  his  hand  on  my  brow  was  pressed, 
And  then  I  knew  that  He  gently  drew 

My  aching  head  to  His  breast. 

I  can  not  describe  the  peace  it  brought, 

But  I  gazed  in  His  face  so  bright 
With  love  for  me,  His  troubled  child, 

And  my  burden  grew  easy  and  light. 
Then  I  knew  it  was  He  who  had  died  for  me  : 

My  Savior  of  love  and  might. 


THE    WAY  OF  THE    TRANSGRESSOR.        II 

I  took  up  my  work  with  a  smile  and  a  song, 

As  I  thought  how  sweet  it  must  be 
To  live  and  work  with  Christ  at  my  side, 

And  when  tried,  to  His  bosom  flee. 
I  awoke  from  my  sleep,  and  for  joy  did  weep, 

For  the  blessing  that  came  to  me. 

January,  1879. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE   TRANSGRESSOR. 

THE  way  is  hard  ;  why  walk  therein  ? 
Why  tread  the  dangerous  path  of  sin  ? 
Your  feet  are  torn  and  bleeding  now  : 
Despair  is  settling  on  your  brow  : 
You  have  not  long  been  walking  here; 
You  're  not  so  hardened  that  the  tear 
Of  deep  repentance  does  not  start, 
As  sorrow  fills  your  wayward  heart. 
Turn  back  while  you  are  called  to-day ! 
Turn  back,  oh,  sinner,  while  you  may  ! 
Come,  while  the  God  of  mercy  waits : 
Come,  there  is  entrance  at  the  gates. 
You're  bound  by  iron  chains,  you  say, 
You  can  not  break  from  them  away  ? 
Then  look  to  Him  who  breaks  the  bands 
Of  sinners  :  See!   His  wounded  hands 
Are  stretched  in  tenderest  love  to  thee ; 
He  longs  to  set  the  prisoner  free. 

1880. 


12  SOArGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

MY  ROOM. 

I  AM  sitting  in  the  twilight, 
In  my  quiet  upper  room, 
Gazing  on  the  hurrying  passers, 
Through  the  gathering  gloom  ; 
Just  as  I  have  sat  so  oft 
In  the  twilight,  gray  and  soft, 
In  my  quiet  room. 

Then  to  glance  within,  around  me : 

So  I  turn  my  gaze  to-night, 
Upon  each  familiar  object, 
And  it  is  a  pleasing  sight; 
Everything  is  clean  and  neat, 
To  my  sight — 'tis  this  I  greet, 
In  my  tidy  room. 

Shall  I  try  to  picture  roughly 

How  it  looks,  and  shall  I  tell 
Why  I  wish  to  write  about  it  ? 
Why  I  love  it  well  ? 

And  the  reason  that  I  sigh 
When  I  think  I  '11  by  and  by 
Leave  my  pretty  room  ? 

First  the  picture,  and  'tis  simple: 

There  's  my  wide  and  snowy  bed, 
With  its  pillows,  where  I  've  often 
Lain  a  weary  head : 

Then  the  curtains,  thin  and  white, 
Keeping  not  the  gentle  light 
From  my  cosy  room. 


MY  ROOM.  13 


By  the  window  stands  a  bureau, 

And  not  more  than   "ten  inch  high," 
With  a  little  rocker,  relics 
Of  the  days  gone  by, 

When,  with  all  my  dollies  gay, 
I  have  played  from  day  to  day 
In  my  childhood's  room. 

Here  before  me  stands  my  table, 

And  my  desk — what  treasures  lie 
There  concealed — my  humble  writings! 
Some  have  met  no  other  eye 
Than  my  own  :  shall  never 
Till  I  've  gone  forever 

From  my  secret  room. 

There  's  another  bureau  also, 

With  its  treasures  laid  away 
For  a  home  in  the  near  future, 
All  my  own  to  call,  some  day; 
When  with  half  a  sigh 
Leave  I,  by  and  by, 

My  long  cherished  room. 

Ornaments  are  few  and  simple, 

Yet  it  is  as  dear  to  me, 
As  if  all  its  walls  were  frescoed, 
And  its  floor  were  tapestry. 
All  because  it's  mine,  you  see, 
That  is  why  it's  dear  to  me, 
My  own  little  room 


SONGS  TN  THE  NIGHT. 


Here  in  silence  have  I  often 

Knelt  alone  in  earnest  prayer, 
And  as  often  found  a  blessing, 
By  the  bedside  kneeling  there, 
And,  with  faith  unbroken, 
Grasped  the  heavenly  token — 
'Tis  a  sacred  room. 

Soon  will  come  the  day  when  I  shall 

Bid  my  childhood's  home  adieu, 
But  to  change  it  for  another, 
And  another  life  pursue  ; 
So  I  think  I  will  not  sigh 
When  I  bid  a  last  good-by 

To  my  girlhood's  room. 

June,  1880. 

TWO    FACES. 

TWO  little  faces  are  near  me  to-night : 
Two  little  faces  I  see  as  I  write : 
Little  faces  full  of  sweetness  and  love, 
Little  angel  faces,  shining  above  : 
And  my  heart  in  tender  love  doth  twine 
Round  my  husband's  sweet  little  sister,  and  mine. 

Dear  little  Hattie  :  Ah  !  God  above  knows 

How  my  heart  with  yearning  love  o'erflows, 

As  I  gaze  upon  my  sister's  face, 

So  full  of  innocence  and  grace, 

While  memory  goes  back  to  that  sad  day, 

When  her  gentle  spirit  passed  away. 


TWO  FACES.  15 


I  should  not  have  called  it  so  dark  and  sad, 

Though  the  sorest  grief  I  ever  had ; 

To  her  't  was  the  opening  of  purer  love, 

Into  endless  joy  in  the  Home  above, 

And  though  our  hearts  so  throbbed  with  pain. 

We  knew  our  loss  was  to  her  a  gain. 

I  miss  her  now,  and  can  not  but  feel 

Her  presence  around  me  doth  gently  steal, 

As  I  kneel  at  morn  and  night  in  prayer, 

Or  busy  myself  with  each  daily  care. 

I  sometimes  think  that  from  Heaven  she  is  lent, 

And  on  errands  of  mercy  and  love  is  sent. 

I  often  think  when  the  hour  shall  come 
For  me  to  enter  that  heavenly  Home, 
She  may  come  for  me,  an  angel  sweet, 
To  show  me  the  way  to  Jesus'  feet, 
And  there  where  tears  fade  from  every  eye, 
We  shall  dwell  forever — my  sister  and  I. 

EMMA. 

Though  many  years  ago  she  died, 

Yet  our  hearts  are  sad  to-day, 
As  we  think  of  her,  our  darling  one, 

Who  has  been  so  long  away. 

She  was  the  light  of  our  troubled  hearts ; 

The  sunshine  in  the  room  : 
Our  pride,  our  treasure,  our  precious  one, 

Our  comfort  in  deepest  gloom. 


1 6  SONGS  JN   THE  NIGHT. 

But  the  Angel  of  Death  soon  entered  the  home, 

And  carried  our  choicest  gem,. 
Away  to  the  world  where  spirits  dwell, 

To  be  forever  with  them. 

We  remember  how  patiently  she  bore 
The  pain  through  each  weary  hour, 

And  how  at  last  she  faded  away, 
Like  a  lingering  summer  flower. 

We  remember  the  sweet,  angelic  look, 

Which  upon  her  features  fell, 
As  she  lay  in  the  loving  arms  of  one 

Who  had  cared  for  and  loved  her  well. 

The  motherly  face  o'er  her  darling  bent : 
"  You  're  my  sweet  little  girl,"  she  said, 

Then  kissed  her  soft,  and  drew  to  her  breast 
The  dear  little  baby  head. 

The  clear  blue  eyes  were  upward  raised, 
She  answered  "  Yes," — then  as  from 

An  angel  the  words  seemed  almost  to  be, 
"  But  sweeter  when  Sunday  shall  come." 

Next  Sabbath  morn,  as  the  bell  rang  out 

Its  sacred,  solemn  knell, 
Her  gentle  spirit  soared  above, 

Forever  in  sweetness  to  dwell. 

"  For  I  say  unto  you  that  in  heaven  their  angels  do  always 
behold  the  face  of  my  Father." 


THE  HINDOO   GIRL.  17 


HE   CARETH    FOR    YOU. 

"  He  that  keepeth  thee,  will  not  slumber." 

THERE  is  an  Eye  that  never  sleeps, 
A  Heart  that  is  always  true  : 
That  ever  in  pity  and  tenderness  keeps 
A  refuge  for  me  and  for  you. 

Though  the  threatening  clouds  may  lower, 

Though  fierce  may  be  the  gale, 
There  is  an  overruling  Power, 

A  Strength  that  will  never  fail. 

There  is  a  Love,  stronger  than  death, 

To  us  weak  mortals  given  ; 
A  Love  that  guards  each  fleeting  breath, 

And  brings  us  safe  to  Heaven. 

Though  the  mountains  are  rugged  and  steep, 
Though  thorny  the  path  may  be, 

We  shall  lay  us  down  at  last  in  sleep, 
To  awake  in  Eternity. 


THE    HINDOO    GIRL. 

FAR  away  o'er  the   sea  lies   the   home  of  the 
Hindoo, 

A  land  blest  with  riches  of  tropics  and  pearls ; 
But  with    souls   how  benighted!      Oh,  pity   them, 

Christians  ! 
Oh,  pity  the  lot  of  the  poor  Hindoo  girls  ! 


1 8  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 


I  need  not  describe  it,  you  know  the  sad  story, 
How  wretched  the  huts  into  which  they  are  born  ; 

How    they    live    as    man's    slave,    without    joy    or 

affection, 
Without  hope  for  the  future,  dejected,  forlorn  : 

Until    death    brings    release;    and    how,    eagerly 

grasping 

That  one  ray  of  hope  in  a  miserable  life, 
They  bring  to  an  end  the  long  years  of  their  tor- 
ture, 

Knowing   that  the   hereafter  hath   not   more  of 
strife. 

It  is  not  my  desire  to  repeat  the  dark  story, 

Their  sufferings  reveal  and  their  misery  unfold, 

But  to  speak  of  a  blessing  now  given  to  the  Hin- 
doo, 
Of  value  more  precious  than  silver  and  gold. 

'Tis  the  gift  of  a  Savior — a  blessing  most  truly; 
How  gladly  they  open  their  hearts  to  receive  : 
Although  they,  at  first,  would  not  list  to  the  mes- 
sage, 

They're    now    willing    and    eager    to    hear    and 
believe. 

The  laborers  are  few,  though  the  harvest  is  plenty, 
And  they  who  have  given  their  lives  to  the  Lord 

And  his   cause,  are   now  calling  to  you  for  assis- 
tance; 
Would  you  have  a  share  in  the  glorious  reward  ? 

1882. 
"  The  harvest  truly  is  great,  but  the  laborers  are  few." 


THE  LILIES.  19 


THE   LILIES. 

THE  beautiful,  beautiful  lilies, 
So  lovely,  so  fragile  and  fair, 
Are  breathing  their  pure,  rich  fragrance 
Out  on  the  summer  air. 

I  stand  by  my  window  at  morning, 
And  watch  their  white  petals  unfold, 

As  they  sparkle  with  pearly  dewdrops, 
Like  vases  of  crystal  and  gold  ; 

And  I  fancy  they  whisper  a  message, 
Which  I  ponder  the  long  day  through, 

It  is  this  :  "If  God  so  clothe  the  lilies, 
Shall  He  not  much  more  clothe  you  ?  " 

With  the  thought  that  he  loveth  and  careth, 
Like  the  touch  of  a  cooling  balm, 

There  falls  on  my  fevered  spirit 
The  hush  of  an  infinite  calm. 

And  I  pray  that  my  life,  like  the  lilies, 
May  exhale  rich  fragrance  abroad, 

Unfolding  the  heart's  frail  petals 
In  the  light  of  a  loving  God. 

Breathe  forth  Thy  fragrance,  O  Spirit  of  God, 

Into  these  hearts  of  ours  ! 
Fill  the  frail  chalice  :  we  only  look  up 

Like  the  tender  summer  flowers. 

"Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow." 


20  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

THROUGH    THE   MISTS. 

"  Until  the  day  dawn,  and  the  shadows  flee  away." 

WE  cannot  always  be  merry  and  gay ; 
One  cloud  may  darken  the  brightest  day, 
And  a  mist  settle  down,  like  the  wings  of  night, 
Till  all,  all  is  dark,  that  once  was  bright, 
And  we  see  not  a  step  of  the  way. 

Yet  we  can  trust,  through  the  darkest  hour, 
In  Him,  whose  overruling  power 
Works  ever  for  good,  though  with  unseen  hand, 
Stilling  the  winds  and  waves  at  command, 
Though  a  threatening  tempest  lower. 

Faith's  eye  can  pierce  through  the  mists  above, 
And  behold  the  light  of  a  steadfast  love, 
That  will  hold  us  safe  from  all  alarms, 
As  the  mother  the  tender  babe  in  her  arms, 
As  the  Ark  the  weary  dove. 

We  can  feel  the  clasp  of  a  mighty  Hand, 
That  will  hold  us  safe,  till  at  His  command 
The  mists  dispel,  and  the  clouds  are  riven, 
And  peace,  at  last,  to  the  soul  is  given, 

Like  the  peace  of  the  Better  Land. 


ONE  BY  ONE.  21 


ONE    BY    ONE. 

"And  ye  shall  be  gathered,  one  by  one."     ISAIAH  27  :  12. 

ONE  by  one  we  are  passing 
Into  the  Silent  Land  : 
One  by  one  weary  footsteps 

Draw  nearer  the  golden  strand  : 
But  the  Father  stands  waiting  to  welcome 
His  children  with  outstretched  hand. 

One  by  one  earthly  visions 

Shall  fade  from  our  weary  sight : 

One  by  one  we  shall  enter 
The  mystic  Valley  of  Night : 

But  O  !  the  joy  that  awaits  us  ! 

It  will  lead  to  the  realms  of  Light ! 

One  by  one  they  are  gathered, 

Those  whom  we  cherish  and  love; 

Not  lost,  only  linked  with  our  hearts 
In  God's  chain  of  compassionate  love, 

Which  binds  us  all  the  closer 
To  the  treasures  laid  up  above. 

One  by  one  we  are  passing 

Into  the  Silent  Land  : 
One  by  one  weary  footsteps 

Draw  nearer  the  golden  strand : 
But  if  we  only  are  faithful, 

We  shall  meet,  an  unbroken  band. 

June  n,  1883. 


22  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

HUMILITY. 

Tune  :  Henley. 

OW  at  Thy  feet  we  kneel,  O  Heavenly  Father  : 
Here  we  would  lift  our  waiting  hearts  to  Thee. 
Grant  us  to  feel  Thy  touch  of  love  and  healing, 
Now  while  we  wait  in  true  humility. 


L 


As  birds  of  song  who  swell  the  sweetest  praises 
Build  low  their  nests  beneath  the  grassy  mound, 
So    through    earth's    twilight    keep    us,    Heavenly 

Father, 
Low  at  Thy  feet,  where  perfect  rest  is  found. 

Here  fill  our  souls  with  Thy  reviving  Spirit; 
Inspire  our  lips  to  sing  a  nobler  song; 
Till,  at  the  dawn  of  that  eternal  Morning, 
We  shall  arise  to  join  the  heavenly  throng. 

Amen. 


THE    RIVER. 

DOWN  by  the  river,  the  wide-flowing  river, 
Two  children  are  frolicking  hand  in  hand, 
And  they  laugh  as  they  watch  the  sunbeams  quiver 
About  their  feet  in  the  golden  sand. 

They  talk  of  a  wee  and  wonderful  fairy, 

While  they  build  from  the  sands  a  miniature  town, 

Heeding  not  how  the  waves  their  castles  airy 
Are  slowly  but  steadily  crumbling  down. 


THE   RIVER.  23 


Down  by  the  river,  the  mild-flowing  river, 
Two  lovers  are  whispering,  side  by  side, 

Heeding  not  how  the  waves  in  the  moonlight  shiver, 
As  a  bark  floats  down  with  the  restless  tide. 

But  they  talk  of  love,  while  others  are  sleeping, 
And  life  seems  one  bright  golden  dream ; 

Then  give  each  the  heart  to  the  other's  keeping, 
As  they  launch  their  barque  on  life's  treacherous 
stream. 

Down  the  wild  river,  the  swift,  rushing  river, 

A  happy  pair  float  on  with  the  tide ; 
He  smiles  as  he  watches  the  mad  waves  shiver; 

She  looks  in  his  face  and  is  satisfied. 

He  gazes  afar,  in  breathless  wonder, 

Away  over  the  waves'  white  crest, 
And  cries,  "Think  you  wealth  lies  over  yonder?  " 

But  she  hushes  a  babe  on  her  breast : 

And  I  hear  her  sing  of  that  "Beautiful  Land, 

The  far-away  home  of  the  soul, 
Where  no  storms  ever  beat  on  its  glittering  strand, 

While  the  years  of  eternity  roll." 

Down  toward  the  River,  the  cold,  narrow  River, 
An  aged  couple  walk,  hand  in  hand, 

And   they  smile   as  the   moonbeams  glimmer  and 

quiver 
About  their  feet  in  snow-white  sand : 


24  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

And  I  hear  them  sing,  as  they  pass  from  the  shore, 
Of  the  "Land  that  is  fairer  than  day," 

And  I  say,  when  I  see  their  forms  no  more, 
"  Heaven  is  not  far  away  ! " 


TRUE  HAPPINESS. 

THERE  is  many  a  thorn,  in  the  path  of  life, 
Which  the  weary  feet  are  pressing. 
More  briars  are  hidden  in  human  hearts 
Than  the  busy  world  is  guessing. 

How  often  we  grasp,  with  an  eager  hand, 
For  the  rose  that  is  richest  and  rarest, 

Finding  oft,  to  our  sorrow,  that  piercing  thorns 
Are  hid  'neath  the  sweetest  and  fairest ! 

Perhaps  we  have  said,  "  Life  is  cold  and  untrue, 
Its  pleasures  not  worthy  the  seeking ; 

For  the  rose's  perfume  will  not  always  repay 
For  the  wound  that  the  thorn  is  making." 

Oh,  do  not  despair !  for  life  ever  is  full 
Of  the  richest  and  purest  enjoyment : 

The  heart  that  is  lightest  and  gladdest  must  be 
The  one  seeking  noble  employment. 

Go  out  in   God's   meadow   and    pluck    the   sweet 
flowers ; 

The  lilies  of  faith  and  contentment; 
Some  snowdrop  of  hope,  or  violet  of  love, — 

It  is  better  than  cherish  resentment. 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  25 

And  then  do  not  wait  till  your  hands  overflow, 

But  give  of  your  scanty  possession  : 
Your  store  will  increase  as  you  kindly  bestow, 

And  the  heart  will  grow  glad  in  confession. 


OUT    OF    THE    DEPTHS. 

"  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  Thee." 

IF  with  faltering  feet  I  travel  the  way, 
If  through  heedlessness  I  walk  astray, 
And  fall,  as  I  must,  oh  Lord !  I  pray, 
Leave  me  not  to  myself,  whatever  the  cost : 
Search  me  out,  as  the  Shepherd  the  sheep  that  was 
lost. 

Save  me  out  of  the  depths. 

When  I  sink  in  the  depths  of  doubt  and  despair ; 
When  my  spirit  is  bowed  with  its  burden  of  care ; 
When  my  heart  is  too  heavy  to  utter  a  prayer, 
Speak  peace,  and  let  fears,  like  a  spectral  band, 
Depart,  as  I  feel  Thy  strong  right  hand 
Lift  me  out  of  the  depths. 

When  prostrate,  I  cling  to  the  crumbling  dust, 
As  I  give  up  my  treasures — I  sometimes  must — 
When  I  see  not  Thy  face,  but  can  only  trust, 
Oh,  comfort  my  heart,  though  the  night  be  long ! 
Lift  me  up !     May  I  rise,  with  a  smile  and  a  song, 
Out  of  the  depth's. 


26  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

And  at  last  when  I  come  to  Death's  deep,  chilling 

wave, 

May  I  enter  so  fearless,  so  trustful,  so  brave, 
That  I  feel  not  its  chill  and  see  not  its  grave ; 
Only  see,  just  beyond,  the  dear  lights  of  Home, 
And  Thy  welcoming  face,  as  I  joyfully  come 
Up  out  of  the  depths. 

May  i,  1884. 


A    LITTLE    WHILE. 

What  is  this  that  he  saith  unto  us,— "A  little  while  !  " 

JOHN  16 : 17. 

A  LITTLE  while— life's  fitful  dream  will  vanish  ; 
Upon  the  soul  shall  rise  an  Easter  dawn, 
And  we  shall  smile,  where  now  we  droop  and  lan- 
guish, 
For  one  faint  glimpse  of  that  eternal  Morn. 

A  little  while — what  are  our  pleasures  fleeting? 

What  are  the  storms  that  often  cloud  the  way, 
Compared  with  Jesus'  kindly  word  of  greeting, 

And  one  glad  sight  of  Heaven's  eternal  Day  ? 

What  is  our  life,  with  oft  repeated  story 

Of  crosses  borne  and  burdens  pressing  down, 

Compared  with  that  exceeding  weight  of  glory, 
A  spotless  robe  and  never-fading  crown  ? 


STATE   RALLYING  SONG.  27 

"A  little  while  !"     I  breathe  it  over  often, 
Until  the  tear-mist  blinds — I  cannot  see — 

And  yet  the  path  will  always  smooth  and  soften 
With  the  glad  thought,  "  He  soon  will  come  for 
me." 

At  night  I  lay  me  down  in  peaceful  silence, 
Clasping  the  sweet  assurance  to  my  breast ; 

While  angels  o'er  my  pillow  whisper,  "  Patience  ; 
The  morning  cometh  soon,  and  with  it  Rest." 


STATE    RALLYING    SONG. 

OH,  we're  a  loyal  temperance  band, 
Our  banners  float  before  us  ; 
We  fight  for  home  and  every  land ; 
Come,  join  our  happy  chorus. 

CHORUS. 

Prohibition  !     Strike  the  note 
In  every  rank  and  station, 
Till  our  rallying  cry  shall  be 
The  watchword  of  our  nation. 

Our  swords  of  Truth  and  Purity 
We  wield  to  save  the  dying ; 

Our  bullets  are  our  ballots  free; 
Some  day  we'll  set  them  flying. 

Though  Alcohol  may  now  be  king, 
Yet  we  are  strong  and  handy ; 

We  make  him  tremble  when  we  sing, 
"  No  beer  for  us,  nor  brandy." 


28  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

No  league  more  true,  no  work  more  grand, 

In  all  this  sin-cursed  region : 
Then  give  three  cheers,  with  voice  and  hand, 

For  the  Loyal  Temperance  Legion. 


SIXTY-FIRST    PSALM. 

Tune :  Dennis. 

LORD,  hearken  to  my  cry, 
My  humble  prayer  attend  ; 
Let  me  but  feel  Thy  presence  nigh, 
And  all  my  care  shall  end. 

When  overwhelmed  by  grief, 

When  earthly  comforts  flee, 
In  that  high  Rock  I  find  relief; 

That  Rock  was  cleft  for  me. 

My  Refuge,  Lord,  Thou  art, 

My  strong  and  mighty  Tower; 
Defend  me  from  the  tempter's  dart, 

Sustain  me  by  Thy  power. 

Help  me  Thy  praise  to  sing, 

For  Thou  hast  heard  my  vow : 
And  grant  me  shelter  'neath  Thy  wing 

Forevermore  as  now. 

SUNDAY,  November  25,  1889. 


LEND  A   HAND.  29 

LEND    A    HAND. 

DO  you  know  the  strength  of  a  helping  hand  ? 
Have  you  ever  felt  the  power 
Of  a  human  clasp  that  was  tender  and  strong 
In  some  dark  and  terrible  hour  ? 

Can  you  ever  forget  when  the  one  you  loved 

Slipped  away  to  the  better  land, 
How  you  clung  in  your  utter  helplessness 

To  a  sympathizing  hand? 

For  it  seemed  almost,  as  it  held  you  close, 

Like  the  grasp  of  the  Hand  divine : 
And  you  said,  though  you  wept,  "  God  loves,  and 
knows 

What  is  best  for  me  and  mine." 

Then  you  tried  to  be  cheerful,  brave,  and  strong, 
Though  your  heart  was  aching  sore : 

But  there  came  a  day  when  your  courage  failed, 
And  you  felt  you  could  bear  no  more; 

Then  a  friend  came  in  from  over  the  way, 
And  somehow  she  smoothed  the  skein 

Of  life's  tangled  threads, — you  never  knew  how — 
And  you  took  up  the  burden  again. 

"  She  has  done  so  much  for  me  ! "  you  said. 

So  much,  and  yet  how  small 
A  thing  is  the  clasp  of  the  hand 

And  a  few  kind  words, — that  is  all ! 


30  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

That  is  all,  and  that  little  all  may  yield  : 

Kind  words  are  easily  given. 
Whoever  will  lighten  another's  woe 

Will  find  a  reward  in  Heaven. 

Think  how  much  brighter  this  world  would  be 

If  each  would  do  his  part ! 
Who  can  measure  the  good  if  we  only  lend, 

With  the  helping  hand,  the  heart ! 


HYMN. 

Tune :  Missionary  Chant. 

FATHER  of  Love,  whose  goodness  still 
Prolongs  our  lives  and  guards  our  ways, 
We  meet  with  grateful  hearts  to  fill 

The  passing  hour  with  hymns  of  praise. 

Cleanse  from  our  souls  all  secret  sin  ; 

Upon  us  place  the  heavenly  seal ; 
Grant  we  may  know  Thy  voice  within, 

And  Thine  abiding  presence  feel. 

Help  us  Thy  tender  flock  to  feed, 

To  teach  Thy  truth  with  patient  care; 

The  wandering  feet  to  gently  lead 
From  thorny  paths  to  pastures  fair. 

Like  incense  rising  to  the  skies, 

So  shall  our  praise  to  Thee  ascend ; 

Accept  this  grateful  sacrifice 

And  guide  us  till  our  day  shall  end. 


CHILDREN'S  DAY  /A    HEAVEN.  31 


CHILDREN'S    DAY    IN    HEAVEN. 

>  r  I  ^  IS  Children's  Day  :  the  summer  hours 
JL       Are  laden  with  the  breath  of  flowers, 
And  songs  of  praises  fill  the  air 
To  Him  who  made  our  world  so  fair. 

Yet,  mingling  with  the  glad  refrain, 
We  hear  an  undertone  of  pain  ; 
For  sorrow  holds  its  sacred  sway 
Even  upon  the  Children's  Day. 

Our  days  are  fair  as  days  may  be  : 
Our  earth  is  beautiful  to  see  : 
Yet  o'er  each  life  the  shadows  fall, 
And  sorrow  is  the  lot  of  all. 

As  surely  as  the  year  rolls  round, 
Bereavement  in  some  class  is  found. 
'Tis  ours  to  grieve,  and  well  we  may, 
For  she  was  here  last  Children's  Day. 

The  fragrant  lilies  which  we  bring 
Are  childhood's  tender  offering  : 
They,  in  their  loveliness,  will  be 
Sweet  symbols  of  her  purity. 

Where  she  abides  there  is  no  gloom  : 
There,  fairest  flowers  immortal  bloom  • 
There,  endless  springs  of  joy  arise, — 
Our  Lizzie  dwells  in  Paradise. 


32  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

It  is  not  strange  that  in  those  bowers 
God  plants  the  fairest,  frailest  flowers, 
For  they  would  fade  amid  earth's  glare : 
'T  is  so  much  safer  over  there  ! 

It  is  not  strange  so  many  go, 
Because  the  Shepherd  loves  them  so. 
Where  they  their  Father's  face  behold, 
He  leads  them  in  that  upper  fold. 

Dear  Lizzie  !     If  she  might  come  near 
To  speak  with  us,  and  could  we  hear, 
I  think  that  she  would  sweetly  say, — 
"In  Heaven  'tis  always  Children's  Day." 


THE    CELESTIAL    PSALM. 

UNTO  the  King  eternally 
A  psalm  of  praise  ascends  : 
A  wave  of  holy  harmony 
That  never,  never  ends. 

It  fills  the  courts  of  Paradise, 

It  floods  its  portals  fair  : 
Its  mighty  hallelujahs  rise 

From  saints  and  seraphs  there. 

The  ransomed  sinner  joins  his  song 
With  those  made  pure  by  pain, 

And  children,  'mid  the  white-robed  throng, 
Unite  in  sweet  refrain. 


THE   CELESTIAL   PSALM.  33 

As  ocean's  deep  responds  to  deep, 

As  heart  to  heart  replies, 
So  answereth  Heaven's  choirs,  and  keep 

Immortal  symphonies. 

The  vast  celestial  universe, 

Each  satellite  and  sun, 
Their  Maker's  faithfulness  rehearse, 

And  swift  their  courses  run. 

Shall  morning  stars  together  sing 

Our  great  Redeemer's  worth, 
And  man  withhold  his  offering? 

Shall  silent  be  the  earth  ? 

Nay !     As  it  is  in  Heaven  and  skies 

May  His  sweet  will  be  done  : 
And  never-ceasing  praise  arise 

As  incense  to  the  Throne. 

From  dewy  morn  till  shadowy  eve, 

Amid  earth's  strife  and  pain  : 
From  cheerful  hearts  and  hearts  that  grieve 

Ascends  that  holy  strain. 

Christ  the  celestial  theme  commands, 

Controls  each  changeful  key : 
He  sways  the  music  with  His  hands, 

And  all  is  harmony. 

All  through  the  day  the  song  goes  on  ; 

It  cannot  wholly  die, 
For  strains  by  mortal  lips  begun 

Are  answered  in  the  sky. 


34 


SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 


As  echoes  to  the  voice  reply, 
As  mind  responds  to  mind, 

Earth's  symphonies,  in  song  and  sigh, 
Responsive  measures  find. 

All  through  the  night  it  still  ascends, 
A  sweet,  triumphant  strain, 

And  He  who  guides  the  music  bends 
Above  each  couch  of  pain. 

Dear  souls,  to  you  is  given  alway 

The  privilege  to  sing, 
As  only  they  who  suffer  may : 

'Tis  sacred  to  the  King. 


ANNIVERSARY    HYMN. 

Tune:  America. 

FATHER,  our  Heavenly  King, 
Accept  our  offering 
Of  life  and  youth  ; 
Now  while  our  hymn  we  raise, 
Help  us  Thy  name  to  praise, 
For  Thou  hast  crowned  our  days 
With  peace  and  truth. 

For  mercies  of  the  year, 
Gladly  we  gather  here 

Thy  name  to  bless; 
Seed  which  our  hands  have  sown 
To  ripening  fruit  has  grown  ; 
Do  Thou  the  future  crown 

With  true  success. 


HARVEST  HYMN.  35 

Father,  our  souls  inspire, 
Fill  us  with  one  desire, 

Banish  our  fears ; 
Send  us  a  gracious  shower 
Of  blessing  at  this  hour, 
Then  shall  we  own  thy  power 

In  coming  years. 

May  every  heart  and  hand 
Of  this,  our  Christian  Band, 

United  move ; 

Strengthened  with  holy  might, 
Stand  valiant  for  the  right, 
Till,  in  Thy  glorious  sight, 

We  meet  above. 


HARVEST    HYMN. 

Tune  :  Hursley. 

WE  gather  here  this  Sabbath  hour, 
With  joyful  hope  and  grateful  cheer, 
While  falling  leaf  and  faded  flower 
Proclaim  the  harvest  of  the  year. 

The  summer  days  have  passed  away  ; 

Now,  'mid  the  falling  of  the  leaves, 
We  meet  with  lowly  heart  to  pray 

For  blessings  on  the  ripened  sheaves. 

We  know  we  cannot  toil  in  vain ; 

That  noble  deeds  can  never  die ; 
Though  here  we  may  not  reap  the  grain, 

'T  is  treasured  for  eternity. 


36  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

Our  Heavenly  Father,  kind  and  true, 
Whose  gracious  hand  supplies  our  need, 

Has  known  the  work  we  strove  to  do, 
And  seen  the  motive  with  the  deed. 

Lord  of  the  harvest,  while  we  meet 
To  sing  thy  praise  and  honor  here, 

Low,  and  in  silence  at  thy  feet, 
We  lay  the  garner  of  the  year. 


A    MIDNIGHT    PRAYER. 

INFINITE  Heart  of  God,  oh,  hide  me! 
Lift  me  up  out  of  self,  and  safely  guide  me ! 
The  way  was  dark  ;   I  stumbled,  fell ; 
Father,  it  hurt  me,  and  I  cannot  tell 
Which  way  to  go,  so  dark  the  midnight  gloom  : 
Give  me  Thy  loving  hand,  and  lead  me  home. 

Infinite  Heart  of  God,  forgive  me  ! 

Once  more  into  Thy  confidence  receive  me. 

As  mother-love  forgets  a  childish  wrong, 

And  soothes  its  grief  away  with  smile  and  song, 

So  once  more  grant  me  peace  instead  of  pain  ; 

In  Thine  Almighty  Arms  take  me  again  ! 

Infinite  Heart  of  God,  enfold  me  ! 
Kind  hand  of  love  and  mercy,  mould  me 
Until  my  image  more  like  Thine  has  grown, 
Until  my  restless  will  blends  with  Thine  own  ; 
Until  I  ask  in  earth  or  Heaven  above 
Naught  dearer  than  Thine  everlasting  love. 


PEAKLS  OF  PR ACE.  37 

Infinite  Heart  of  Love,  enfold  me ! 
I  cannot  keep  myself ;  oh,  hold  me 
By  Thine  Almighty,  saving  power  : 
Bear  me  upon  Thy  bosom  hour  by  hour, 
And  if  it  be  I  feel  Thy  chastening  rod, 
Thy  will  be  done,  Eternal  Heart  of  God  ! 


PEARLS    OF    PEACE. 

(An  acrostic.) 

PEARLS  of  sweet  peace  from  the  Bible  I  gather; 
Entwine  them,  my  soul,  in  a  garland  to-day, 
Around  some  heart  who  vainly  is  seeking 
Refreshment  from  pleasures  born  but  to  decay. 
Lovingly,  tenderly,  bind  them  about  thee, 
Sorrowing  one,  seeking  comfort  in  vain. 

Oh,  may  thy  soul,  from  its  all-soothing  presence, 
Find  full  release  from  its  anguish  and  pain  ! 

Peace  like  a  river,  so  perfect,  so  tranquil, 
Endless  and  steadfast,  eternal  and  sure. 
Angels  have  chanted,  in  musical  measure, 
Carols  to  earth  of  this  God-given  treasure, 
Ever  of  peace  for  the  trustful  and  pure. 

Matthew  13:  45,  46. 

August,  1886. 


38  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

IN    MEMORIAM. 
(Inscribed  to  the  memory  of  our  beloved  leader,  Iram  Smith.) 

lr  I  MS  harvest  time.     From  the  far,  western  hills 

X        Fadeth  at  last  the  faintest  sunset  gleam. 
Down  in  the  dusky  moorlands  shadows  loom 
Like  spectral  phantoms,  seen  and  now  unseen. 
Up  from  the  meadows,  wide-waving,  golden, 
Borne  on  the  breeze,  is  heard  the  reapers'  song; 
Weaned,  indeed,  yet  joyful  they  return, 
Bearing  their  sheaves,  and  chanting, 

"Harvest  Home!" 

Lights  gleam  from  cottage  windows,  and  beside 

The  door  still  stands  the  good  wife,  silently 

Waiting  to  greet  the  harvester's  return. 

And  as  they  come,  lo  !  o'er  the  purple  hills, 

Rising  majestic,  shines  the  harvest  moon. 

The  shadows  flee  away,  while  one  by  one 

Bright  stars  appear,  which  seem  in  turn  to  say, 

"We  welcome  the  worn  laborer's  return." 

How  cheerful  glow  the  fires  from  cottage  hearths  ! 

How  kind  the  dear  home  faces  seem  to-night, 

As  'round  the  board,  in  happy  converse,  meet 

Youth  and  old  age,  in  merry,  glad  accord. 

Forgotten  now  the  day's  incessant  toil : 

Their  sheaves  are  gathered  in,  their  work  is  done, 

And  rest,  sweet  rest,  rewards  the  laborer. 

'Tis  harvest  time.     The  rich,  ripe  golden  grain 
Is  bending  'neath  the  chill  October  wind. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  39 


The  busy  reapers,  faithful,  brave,  and  strong, 

Are  gathering  with  care  life's  precious  sheaves. 

And  ever  and  anon  fresh  workers  join 

The  vast,  almost  innumerable  throng ; 

While,  one  by  one,  those  who  have  served  their  task 

The  sickle  lay  aside,  and  calmly  bear 

Their  sheaves  into  the  Land  of  just  reward. 

At  morn,  at  noon,  and  at  the  eventide 

The  message  comes,  "  Most  blest  forevermore, 

Lay  down  the  sickle,  for  your  work  is  done." 

Among  the  faithful  workers  there  was  one 
Who  many  years  had  taught  the  younger  ones. 
His  gentle  tones,  his  counsels  calm  and  clear, 
From  memory  can  never  be  effaced. 
His  was  a  never-failing  store,  it  seemed, 
Of  wisdom  and  of  Christian  sympathy. 
He  freely  gave,  and  freely  he  received 
Supplies  from  Him,  the  living  Fountain-head. 

There  came  a  time  when  he  could  toil  no  more  : 
When  his  kind  Master  bade  him  rest  awhile 
In  the  dim  valley  till  the  summons  came. 
Like  patient  Job,  his  faith  remained  unmoved. 
He  was  content  to  abide  the  path  of  pain 
If  it  must  be  God's  will,  and  yet  he  knew 
That  loved  ones  waited  at  the  heavenly  gate. 

At  length  the  message  came.     Lo  !  o'er  the  gloom 
There  rose  majestic,  calm,  a  heavenly  light : 
And  myriad  angels,  by  this  world  unseen, 
Bearing  him  onward,  chanted  "  Harvest  Home  !  " 


40  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

The  shadows  flee  away,  and  one  by  one 
Bright  forms  appear  to  welcome  his  return. 
How  sweet  at  last  the  dear  home-faces  seem  ! 
How  endless  is  the  peace  his  spirit  knows ! 
Forgotten  now  the  hours  of  ceaseless  pain  ; 
His  sheaves  are  garnered  in  :  his  work  is  done. 
Rest,  blissful  rest,  rewards  the  laborer. 

"Thrust  in  thy  sickle  and  reap,  for  the  time  has  come  for 
thee  to  reap."     Rev.  14:  15. 

October,  1885. 


CHRISTMAS    BELLS. 

"And  thou  shalt  call  his  name  Jesus." 

RING  out,  O  Christmas  bells  ! 
Spread  far  and  wide  the  joyous  tale ; 
Ring  out,  ye  bells,  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
The  glad,  sweet  story,  ever  new : 
"A  Savior,  Christ,  is  born  to  you." 
Ring,  happy  bells,  ring  out  again, 
"Peace  upon  earth,  good  will  to  men." 

Ring  out,  O  Christmas  bells  ! 

Tell  the  glad  news  to  the  high  and  lowly ; 

Echo  the  song  of  the  angels,  holy, — 
"A  Savior,  Christ,  is  born  to  you." 
Gift  of  all  gifts,  so  rich  and  true ; 
Ring  out,  that  all  may  hear  the  story : 
"Jesus  has  come  with  the  Father's  glory." 


UNCLE  DENNIS  " 


LAKEVILLE.  4! 


Ring  out,  O  Christmas  bells  I 

Till  grateful  hearts  in  every  clime 
Shall  blend  in  song  with  your  sweet  chime, 
And  join  the  angels'  song  of  praise, 
While  they  repeat  through  endless  days, 
"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  glory  ! 
Glory  to  God  for  the  Christmas  story  !  " 

December,  1883. 


LAKEVILLE. 

AMONG  green  meadows,  woods,  and  hills, 
Among  sweet  ferns,  fair  lakes,  and  rills, 
A  farmhouse  stands,  with  its  doorstep  wide, 
And  the  lilacs  are  growing  on  either  side. 
It  was  part  of  a  century  ago — 
How  large  a  part  we  hardly  know— 
A  chapel  reared  its  stately  wall 
Beside  the  road,  serene  and  tall, 
And  every  Sabbath  morn  and  night 
Its  bell  rang  out  in  loud  delight. 
But  the  church  grew  old,  as  churches  will, 
And  there  came  a  time  when  the  belfry  was  still ; 
The  moss  grew  unhindered  about  the  door, 
And  the  voice  of  the  pulpit  was  heard  no  more. 
Then  a  thrifty  farmer  obtained  the  land, 
And  soon,  with  his  energetic  hand, 
Tore  down  the  old  chapel  with  steady  toil, 
Mowed  the  wide  fields  and  ploughed  the  soil, 
Making  his  home  in  this  quiet  place, 


42  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

And  welcoming  all  with  a  shining  face. 

On  the  page  of  the  past  there  's  no  line  more  clear 

Than  that  which  tells  of  his  honest  cheer; 

And  no  soul  more  lovely,  in  life  or  death, 

Than  that  beautiful  one,  Aunt  Elizabeth. 

Fond  memory  closes  its  eyes,  and  sees 

The  same  old  pulpit  out  under  the  trees, 

Where  sermons,  impromptu  and  wondrous  wise, 

Were  preached  to  the  birds  and  butterflies. 

We  were  children  then,  as  hand  in  hand 

We  wandered  over  the  meadow-land: 

But  the  dreams  of  youth  with  the  years  have  flown, 

And  the  children's  children  have  homes  of  their  own, 

Yet  the  dear  old  grandpa  they  never  forget, 

And  the  smile  on  his  face  it  is  lingering  yet. 

He  laughs  when  we  tell  him  he  would  n't  dare 

To  give  us  "  a  penny  for  every  white  hair," 

For  they  lie  on  his  brow  like  the  drifting  snow ; 

His  figure  is  bowed,  and  his  step  it  is  slow, 

But  we  feel,  whenever  we  speak  his  name, 

That  dear  Uncle  Dennis  is  just  the  same. 

So,  deep  in  our  heart  of  hearts  we  hold 

The  memory  of  him  who  never  grows  old. 


RED,  WHITE,  AND    BLUE. 

THE  red  says,  Do  right; 
The  white  says,  Be  pure ; 

The  blue  says,  Be  true,  be  true,  be  faithful   and 
endure. 


A   SIGH  AND   A   SONG.  43 

A    SIGH    AND  A  SONG. 

(Upon  the  death  of  my  friend  Gertrude.) 

I  STOOD  among  the  dead  leaves,  sere  and  brown  ; 
The  north  wind  smote   me  with  her  chilling 

breath, 

Sending  more  faded  leaflets  fluttering  down, 
While  all  around  bespoke  decay  and  death. 
The  grassy  mead  where  once  the  daisies  smiled 
Was  dreary  now,  was  desolate  and  wild. 
Above  me  barren  branches  seemed  to  sigh 
A  sad  farewell  to  the  departing  year; 
While  from  the  dark  and  ever-leaden  sky 
Upon  me  fell  a  raindrop,  like  a  tear : 
And  as  I  listened  to  the  bare  boughs'  moan, 
I  grieved  because  the  summer  days  had  flown. 
But  while  I  mused  to  watch  the  leaflets  lie 
Withered  and  lifeless,  scattered  at  my  feet, 
I  was  aroused  from  my  sad  reverie 
By  a  glad  burst  of  music,  wild  yet  sweet. 
I  raised  mine  eyes,  and  lo  !  a  feathered  throng 
Had  filled  the  trees  with  life,  the  air  with  song. 
I  could  but  listen  to  their  cheering  strain  : 
It  soothed  my  spirit  like  a  vesper  chime. 
They  told  me  flowers  would  spring  again, 
That  even  now  they  bloomed  in  southern  clime. 
They  sang,  "A  few  short  months,   and  earth  will 

smile 
Anew  :  be  patient  for  a  little  while." 

*  *  #  •  *  *  # 

I  stood  amid  the  shadows,  dark  and  chill, 


44  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Where  youth's  fair  hopes  lay  crushed  beneath  the  sod. 

I  wept  because  my  flower  had  drooped,  and  still 

I  knew  above  me  lived  a  pitying  God. 

A  fragile  flower  had  faded  at  the  breath 

Of  winter's  chill :  they  told  me  this  was  Death. 

I  stood  beside  her  as  she  lay  asleep, — 

My  gentle  friend,  so  sweetly  sleeping  now. 

I  could  but  think,  although  I  fain  would  weep, 

How  bright  the  crown  resting  upon  her  brow  ! 

How  blessed  her  release  from  suffering  and  pain ! 

How  small  my  loss  beside  her  glorious  gain  ! 

Oh,  lonely  hearts,  who  mourn  bereft  to-night, 

Above  the  tear-mist  hanging  close  between, 

Beyond  our  grief,  where  all  is  love  and  light, 

Are    heard    angelic    songs   from    choirs   just   now 

unseen. 

Can  we  not  catch,  though  faint,  a  far-off  strain 
To  soothe  our  hearts  in  their  dull,  throbbing  pain  ? 
They  sing  of  Heaven,  of  immortality, 
Of  Him  who  to  your  lonely  hearts  hath  said, 
"  Like  as  a  father,  so  I  pity  thee. 
Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled  or  afraid, 
For  in  my  Father's  House  are  mansions  blest. 
Come  unto  Me  and  I  will  give  you  rest," 
Listen,  sad  soul,  and  hearing  this,  believe 
A  rest  remaineth  for  us  by  and  by ; 
We  know  it  is  not  all  of  life  to  live  : 
Surely  for  her  it  was  not  death  to  die. 
Now  in  that  Home,  where  sin  shall  ne'er  beguile, 
She  waits  for  you.     Be  patient  for  a  little  while. 

November,  1885. 


THE  EAGLE.  45 


THE    EAGLE. 

DID  you  ever  think  of  that  wonderful  bird, 
The  bird  of  the  mountain  crest ; 
How  that  safe  in  the  cleft  of  a  sheltered  crag 
She  buildeth  her  lofty  nest  ? 

How  she  broodeth  over  her  tender  young, 
And  feedeth  them  when  they  cry ; 

And  how,  on  the  strength  of  her  mighty  wings, 
She  pierces  the  upper  sky  ? 

How  she  descends  to  the  valley  low 

And  pounces  upon  her  prey, 
Holding  it  fast  with  relentless  grasp, 

Then  bears  it  in  triumph  away? 

She  is  queen  of  her  tribe  :  few  dare  molest 

The  haunt  of  the  eagle  bold; 
While  dwelling  far  in  the  mountain  air, 

The  length  of  her  days  is  untold. 

'Tis  said  when  this  mother  bird  would  teach 

Her  tender  young  to  fly, 
She  stirreth  and  teareth  her  nest  away, 

Then  beareth  them  up  on  high. 

And  then,  when  the  mountain  cloud  hangs  low, 
Returns  with  those  helpless  things, 

And,  safe  in  the  covert  of  rocky  crag, 
She  covers  them  with  her  wings. 


46  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Did  you  ever  think  how  the  mighty  God 
To  the  eagle  Himself  has  compared, 

In  that  sheltering  love  that  guards  its  own 
As  the  bird  for  her  own  has  cared  ? 

Just  as  the  eagle,  with  pinions  spread, 

Shelters  the  young  in  her  nest, 
So  with  His  feathers  He  covers  thee ; 

So  under  His  wings  shalt  thou  rest. 

When  in  the  conflict  of  Christian  life 

We  struggle  and  faint  and  sigh, 
Then  on  the  strength  of  His  mighty  arm 

The  spirit  soars  on  high  ; 

For  when  we  cling  to  these  earthly  stores, 
The  treasures  that  rust  and  decay, 

He  takes  from  our  grasp  those  hindering  things 
As  the  bird  tears  her  nest  away. 

Then  safe  in  the  Rock  that  was  cleft  for  all 

Jehovah  His  children  doth  keep, 
And  secure  at  last  'neath  His' sheltering  wing, 

He  giveth  His  loved  ones  sleep. 

"As  an  eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest,  fluttered!  over  her  young, 
spreadeth  abroad  her  wings,  taketh  them,  beareth  them  on 
her  wings,  so  the  Lord  alone  did  lead  him,  and  there  was  no 
strange  god  with  him." 


AN  APRIL   LESSON.  47 

AN    APRIL  LESSON. 

I  SAT  alone  by  my  window, 
One  chilly  April  morn  ; 
My  mind  was  filled  with  many  cares, 
And  my  heart  was  indeed  forforn. 

A  cloud  of  untimely  snowflakes 

Came  pelting  against  the  pane, 
Till  it  seemed  indeed  that  Winter  old 

Had  lengthened  his  icy  chain. 

The  tender  crocus  which  had  dared 

To  peep  from  its  sheltered  bed, 
Was  lying,  a  crushed  and  broken  thing, 

Helpless  and  frozen  and  dead. 

"Ah,  me!"  I  said,  "will  faded  hope, 
Like  the  crocus  ne'er  blossom  again  ; 

Or  lift  its  head  like  the  daffodil, 

And  in  sunshine  forget  its  past  pain  ? " 

A  flock  of  birds,  that  yesterday 

Sang  sweet  in  the  sunshine  warm, 
Fluttered  hither  and  thither,  as  though 

They  would  flee  from  the  chilling  storm. 

There  were  some  who  did  not  seem  to  heed 

The  thickly  gathering  snow  ; 
They  had  weathered  many  a  wintry  blast, 

And  knew  just  where  to  go. 


48  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

But  one  little  robin,  who  yesterday 

Emerged  from  his  winter's  nook, 
Fluttered  about  from  limb  to  limb, 

With  rapid  and  eager  look. 

At  last  his  bright  black  eye  espied 

A  spot  'neath  a  rustic  seat, 
Where  sheltered  from  the  drifting  snow 

He  found  a  warm,  snug  retreat. 

I  watched  him  shaking  his  tufted  head 

And  pluming  his  feathers  gay, 
Then  patiently  settle  himself  to  wait 

Till  the  storm  had  passed  away. 

I  smiled  to  myself,  and  I  said,  "  Dear  bird, 

So  safe  from  the  cold  and  wet, 
You  have  taught  me  a  lesson,  this  dreary  morn, 

That  I  shall  not  soon  forget." 

Then  I  heard  him  twitter  and  chirp  and  sing, 
And  I  said,  "  Sing  on,  sweet  bird, 

While  I  will  join  in  your  melody 
With  a  song  you  never  heard." 

"In  the  secret  of  his  pavilion 

In  trouble  He  shall  hide; 
In  the  secret  of  His  presence  safe, 

There  shall  my  soul  abide. 

"  Rest  in  the  Lord,  my  soul,  oh,  rest ! 

Though  the  path  be  rough  and  dim  : 
Rest  in  the  Lord,  my  soul,  and  then 

Wait  patiently  for  Him." 

April,  1886. 


MO  THERIIOOD.  49 


MOTHERHOOD. 

Dedicated  to  my  sister. 

MOTHER,  you  are  weary  now ;  all  day  long, 
From  early  morn,  your  busy  feet  have  trod 
In  duty's  path.     Your  heart  and  mind  were  full 
Of  care  and  anxious  fear,  lest  from  your  lack 
Of  constant  faithfulness  the  little  ones 
Should  run  astray  in  oft  forbidden  paths. 
Your  boy,  with  heart  so  loyal  and  so  kind 
When  touched  by  mother-love  and  sympathy ! 
You  know  so  well  where  lie  his  faults,  and  none 
But  you  so  easily  may  guard  his  feet 
From  luring  paths  which  oft  entice  his  steps. 
Oh,  if  that  mother-hand  could  always  guide! 
The  little  maiden,  shy  yet  so  winsome, 
So  trustful  and  confiding,  yet  withal, 
So  helpless  in  her  innocence  !     You  sigh, 
And  say,  "  I  fear  that  very  trustfulness, 
That  unsuspicion  of  the  world's  deceit, 
May  cause  sad  heartache  in  her  young,  sweet  life." 
You  long  to  keep  her  innocent,  and  still 
Can  scarce  refrain  from  saying, 
"Little  one, 

The  world  is  not  as  loyal  as  my  love  !  " 
A  little  child  is  clinging  at  your  gown, 
Or  begging  to  be  held.     He  thinks,  forsooth, 
You  Ve  naught  to  do  but  serve  his  majesty  : 
That  he  is  king;  and  so  indeed  he  is, — 
The  precious  little  one !     Ah,  hold  him  close, 
And  thank  God  for  him  ! 


5O  SOA7GS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

For  in  after  years, 

When  you  are  bowed  in  weakness,  and  the  snows 
Of  many  winters  have  o'erpassed  your  head, 
Leaving  their  impress  in  thin,  silvery  locks 
(A  crown  of  glory  on  your  patient  brow), 
That  little  child  now  full  of  helplessness, 
Who  cost  you  many  a  long,  restless  night, 
Many  a  heartache  and  anxiety, 
May  be  your  pride  and  strength. 

You  will  forget 

Those  weary  hours,  while  leaning  on  his  arm, 
So  gallant^  safe,  and  strong.     You  're  young  again  : 
Your  features  lighten  with  a  girlish  smile 
When,  introducing  you  to  worthy  friends, 
He  takes  your  wrinkled  hand  in  his,  and  says, 
In  accents  firm  and  reverent,  "My  Mother/' 

But  you  are  weary  now ;  all  through  the  day 

Their  busy,  restless  feet  and  prattling  tongues 

Made  wild  confusion  in  the  nursery  ; 

And  yet,  whene'er  you  sought  vainly  to  check 

Their  shouts  of  noisy  merriment,  you  thought, 

"I  will  not  chide  the  happy  little  things, 

Nor  mar  their  pleasure.    God  gives  youth  but  once." 

Now  they  are  sleeping;  their  wee  hands  folded 

Like  the  fair  lily-buds  at  eventide, 

Who,  without  thought,  in  their  simplicity 

Await  the  first  soft  kiss  of  morning  light. 

Sweet  buds  !     Oh,  trustful  little  ones,  we  learn 

A  sacred  lesson  o'er  your  cribs  to-night  ! 

'Tis  said  by  one,  "The  hand  the  cradle  rocks, 


MOTHERHOOD.  51 


Doth  rule  the  world,"  and  if  this  thought  be  true, 
Then  honored  be  thy  sway,  queen  Motherhood ! 
Patience,  tired  mother.     He  who  paints  the  flowers 
In  rainbow  tints  of  matchless  hue,  who  carves 
The  crystal  lilies,  and  who  cares  for  them, 
Who  counts  the  sparrows,  and  who  marks  their  fall, 
Will  not  forget  your  faithful  work  of  love. 
To  those  who  have  no  might  He  giveth  strength, 
Not  for  to-morrow,  only  "as  thy  day." 
Then  cast  your  care  upon  Him  :  trust  His  strength  : 
Be  faithful  through  to-day,  and  leave  the  rest, 
The  past,  the  dim  to-morrow,  to  His  care. 
My  fancy  faintly  pictures  a  glad  scene 
In  that  fair  land  where  crowns  of  life  are  given  : 
"Where  loyal  hearts  and  true  "  stand  in  the  light 
.Of  Christ,  the  Lamb,  to  whom  their  praises  rise. 
I  see  bright  crowns  of  dazzling  brilliancy, 
Crowns  of  the  martyrs,  and  of  those  who  toiled 
In  God's  wide  mission-field :  who  sacrificed 
Their  lives  for  one  great  purpose,  grandly  wrought. 
And  others,  who  in  quiet  ways  had  used 
Their  time  and  talent  for  one  noble  aim, — 
The  good  of  man.     It  seems  they  were,  indeed, 
Surprised  at  their  exceeding  great  reward. 
Oh,  there  are  brilliant  crowns  innumerable 
My  language  fails  describe  !  but  there  is  one  ! 
(Aye,  many  like  it)  which  mine  eye  discerns, 
So  radiant  is  its  beauty,  yet  I  see 
No  sparkling  gem  which  marks  the  brilliancy. 
But  as  I  note  its  radiance,  and  the  face, 
So  sweetly  shining  'neath  its  light,  I  ask, 


52  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

"  Who  bears  the  palm  ?     And  what  the  cross  she 

bore  ?  " 
And  a  voice  answers, 

"That  bright  diadem 
Is  resting  on  a  faithful  mother's  brow." 

"  Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown 
of  life." — REV.  2  :  10. 


CONSECRATION. 

"  Consecrate  yourselves  to-day  unto  the  Lord."— DEUT.  32  :  29. 

I  CONSECRATE  myself  to  Thee,  Jesus,  my  King, 
'Tis  but  a  false  and  fickle  life  I  have  to  bring: 
A  heart  grown  tired,  striving  to  win 
Victory  o'er  self  and  secret  sin. 
I  come  at  last  before  the  open  door, 
Come  where  I  know  I  might  have  come  before : 
Weary  with  struggle,  ending  in  defeat, 
Weak  from  the  conflict,  finding  no  retreat, 
To  lay  my  burden  down  before  Thy  feet. 

How  long,  O  Lord,  before  I  learn  to  see 

There  is  no  strength  or  worthiness  in  me  ? 

How  many  failures,  ere  I  know 

One  step  alone  I  cannot  go? 

That  day  by  day,  yea,  even  hour  by  hour, 

I  need  to  claim  anew  Thy  saving  power? 

How  many  burdens  will  I  seek  to  bear 

When  Thou  hast  said,  "  My  child,  cast  all  your  care 

Upon  My  heart ;  trust  me,  and  leave  it  there  ?  " 


FLOWER  MISSION.  53 

I  know  I  cannot  claim  Thy  keeping  power, 

Except  by  trusting  in  Thee,  hour  by  hour; 

Drawing,  each  moment,  as  it  flies, 

Fresh  faith  from  Thee,  and  fresh  supplies 

Of  strength  and  grace.    And  then,  what  need  I  fear  ? 

Why  doubt  and  tremble  when  Thou  art  so  near  ? 

Why  shun  the  path,  since  Thou  wilt  walk  with  me  ? 

I  will  not  shrink,  but  give  up  all  to  Thee. 

Keep  me,  my  Saviour,  through  eternity. 

I  dedicate  my  powers  to  Thee,  Jesus,  my  King, 
Oh,  sanctify,  and  then  accept  my  offering! 
All  that  I  am,  all  that  I  hope  to  be, 
Is  gift  but  small,  my  Lord,  to  offer  Thee. 
Sun  of  my  Soul,  shine  forth  upon  my  heart ! 
Arouse  my  powers  :  illumine  every  part ! 
Inspire  my  thoughts,  and  let  me  speak  or  sing, 
Or  write  as  Thou  shalt  dictate  :  offering 
My  heart's  best  love  to  Thee,  Jesus,  my  King ! 

May  31,  1885. 


FLOWER    MISSION. 

GO,  tender  flowers.     Unto  you  it  is  given 
To  bear  to  the  lonely  this  message  of  cheer  : 
"We    are   God's    thoughts,   like    the    angels  from 

heaven  ; 
God  thought  of  you,  too,  that  is  why  we  are  here." 

June,  1890. 


54  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGH7\ 

ANNIE    HART. 

WHEN  the  winter  winds  were  sighing, 
In  December's  midnight  chill, 
When  the  old,  old  year  was  dying, 

And  the  slumbering  world  was  still, 
By  the  bedside  of  their  treasure, 

Watching  every  fluttering  breath, 
Sat  the  watchers,  in  the  presence 
Of  the  Reaper  we  call  Death. 

As  the  long  hours  glided  onward, 

Sad  they  watched  the  New  Year  dawn, 
But  no  gleam  of  hope  or  promise 

Ushered  in  the  New  Year  morn. 
With  the  daylight's  slow  declining, 

Entered  there  an  unseen  Guest, 
And  he  laid  his  icy  fingers 

On  the  pulses  of  her  breast. 

Then  they  closed  the  drooping  eyelids, 

Gently  smoothed  her  waving  hair, 
While  the  bitter  tears  were  falling 

In  her  face,  so  sweet  and  fair. 
And  they  said,  "  She  sleeps  in  Jesus ; 

Blessed  sleep — oh,  blessed  rest !  " 
Praying  still  for  help  to  whisper, 

"God  is  love,  and  knoweth  best." 

Fragile  as  an  Easter  lily, 

But  as  fair,  as  pure,  as  sweet, 
Breathed  she  forth  her  life  in  fragrance, 

Blooming  at  the  Master's  feet. 


A   MOTHER'S  SONG.  55 

He  has  plucked  His  fragrant  lily 

From  its  slender,  earthly  stem, 
But  to  place  it  as  a  jewel 

In  His  royal  diadem. 

Do  not  say  she  sleeps  forever : 

Gentle  Annie  is  not  dead  ; 
Even  now  she  lives  in  Heaven, 

For  the  blessed  Lord  hath  said, 
u  Maid,  arise!"     And  in  His  likeness, 

Even  now,  she  's  satisfied. 
"  Hid  with  Christ,"  oh,  weeping  mourner, 

Do  not  say  that  she  has  died! 

"And  lie  took  her  by  the  hand,  saying,  '  Maid,  arise  ! '  ' 

January  i,  1885. 

A    MOTHER'S    SONG. 

"  Yea,  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love." 

DEAR  little  baby  (sweet,  innocent  thing) 
Lies  with  her  head  on  my  breast, 
Gazing  up  into  my  face  as  I  sing, 

As  I  sing  her  away  to  rest. 
"  Hush  thee,  my  baby  ;  list  to  my  song  : 
The  arms  that  hold  cannot  hold  very  long, 
But  the  love  I  give  you  is,  oh,  so  strong ! " 

She  rests,  content  on  my  bosom  to  lie, 
But  the  arms  get  weary,  and  by  and  by 

I  lay  her  down  in  her  cradle  to  sleep, 

While  sitting  beside  her,  a  kind  watch  to  keep, 


56  SOA'GS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

I  sing,  "Sleep,  my  babe,  though  the  night  be  long, 
I  will  stay  close  beside  you  and  sing  you  this  song  : 
The  love  that  I  give  you  is,  oh,  so  strong !  " 

I  cannot  but  measure  the  love  of  God 

By  my  human  love;  'tis  so  deep  and  broad 

That  I  rest  on  His  bosom  without  one  fear, 
While  He  tenderly  whispers  within  my  ear, 

"  Hush,  my  child  :  I  will  keep  thee  from  wrong ; 

The  way  may  be  rough,  may  be  dark  and  long. 

But  the  love  I  give  you  is,  oh,  so  strong !  " 

Oh,  the  Arms  of  the  Father  they  never  tire  ! 

He  will  hold  me  as  long  as  my  heart  doth  desire, 
And  lull  my  soul  to  the  sweetest  rest, 

Upon  His  mighty,  loving  breast, 
And  sing  to  me  in  a  matchless  song, 
"The  night  may  be  dreary,  and  dark  and  long, 
But  the  love  I  give  you  is,  oh,  so  strong !  " 

January,  1883. 


HOLY    DAY. 

"And  He  said  unto  them,  'Ye  shall  drink  indeed  of  My  cup.'  " 

SWEET  was  the  hour  at  Holy  Day. 
I  knelt  beside  the  altar,  and  received 
The  sacred  emblems  of  our  risen  Lord. 
My  soul  was  filled  with  joy  and  confidence, 
And  when  my  Savior  whispered,  "  Lovest  Me  ? 
And  lovest  Me  more  than  all  thine  earthly  loves?  " 


HOLY  DAY.  57 


My  heart  responded,  "Yea,  Thou  knowest,  Lord, 
Thou  knowest  my  heart,  my  all.  is  wholly  Thine ; 
That  naught  shall  come  between  Thy  love  and  mine  ; 
Not  life,  nor  death,  nor  things  seen  or  unseen, — 
Nothing  can  separate  me  from  my  Lord. 
No  sacrifice,  O  Christ,  can  be  too  great ; 
No  gift  too  precious  to  withhold  from  Thee ; 
For  mine,  are  they  not  Thine,  Thine  own  to  give, 
And  to  require  again  ?     I  can  but  trust 
In  Thy  dear  love — I  know  Thy  will  is  best." 

I  rose,  and  I  went  forth  :  my  cup  was  full 

Of  joy,  for  I  rejoiced  in  the  great  love 

I  bore  my  Lord.     I  felt  that  He  had  blessed 

And  smiled  upon  me,  though  I  knew  not  why, 

And  given  me  that  peace  which  passeth  not  away. 

Oh,  false  and  faithless  heart,  to  lose  its  trust ! 

Oh,  fickle  love,  that  could  not  bear  the  test ! 

Like  the  disciple  who  denied  his  Lord, 

I  hide  my  blushing  face  in  bitter  tears ; 

For  one  deep,  wounded  look  from  Him  I  love 

Hath  shown  me  all  my  guilt  and  faithlessness. 

He  did  not  take  from  me  my  choicest  gifts  : 

He  did  not  send  affliction  or  disease. 

Methinks,  perhaps,  that  if  it  had  been  thus, 

I  would  have  been  more  brave :  for  with  the  rod 

That  chastened  me  I  might  have  seen  His  hand, 

And  seeing  Him,  have  kissed  it,  as  I  said, 

"  My  Lord,  my  Love,  I  trust  Thee,  though  I  die  ! " 

He  asked  of  me  a  little  sacrifice  : 

A  giving  up  of  pleasure  for  His  sake, 

And  not  for  His  alone — I  see  it  now, — 


58  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

For  as  I  lifted  up  the  cross,  beneath 

I  found  a  sparkling  jewel,  wondrous  rare  ; 

A  gem  of  beauty,  which,  if  guarded  well, 

Will  one  day  shine  in  my  immortal  crown. 

But  at  the  first  I  would  not  see  it  thus  : 

I  saw  my  cross  that  I  must  bear  with  pain 

And  self-denial.     In  my  wilfulness 

I  cried,  "  O  Lord,  I  cannot  bear  this  cross  !  " 

*  *  #  *  * 

Calm  was  the  hour  at  Holy  Day. 
I  knelt  beside  the  altar,  and  again 
Received  the  sacred  emblems  of  His  death. 
My  heart  was  filled  with  trembling,  for  I  felt 
That  I,  among  His  followers,  was  the  one 
Who,  though  in  secret,  had  denied  the  Lord. 
But  when  I  drank  His  sacrificial  blood, 
"  I  shrink  not  back,"  I  said,  "  but  take  the  cup 
Thou  givest  me,  and  drink  it  to  the  bitter  dregs, 
For  if  Thy  hand  but  gives  it,  it  is  well ! '' 

And  He  who  knows  our  frame,  knows  it  is  dust ; 
Knows  how  in  weakness  oft  the  flesh  doth  fail, 
E'en  when  the  spirit  seemeth  strong  to  bear, 
Forgave  me  failing  flesh  and  doubting  heart, 
Forgave,  yea,  with  free  and  full  forgiveness. 
Relying  on  His  strength  for  my  support, 
I  rose  in  peace,  in  restful,  calm  content, 
Trusting  in  self  no  longer ;  but  that  love, 
That  mighty  love,  that  ever  shall  endure. 


AFTER   AWHILE. 


AFTER    AWHILE. 

'After  that  ye  have  suffered  awhile."—  I  PETKR  5:  10. 

AFTER  the  heated  day, 
Soft  twilight  calm  ; 
After  its  weariness, 
Night's  soothing  balm. 

After  the  storm-cloud, 

Sunshine  again  ; 
After  discordance, 

Harmony's  strain. 

After  the  bitterness 

Marah  must  bring, 
Cometh  the  sweetness 

Of  Elim's  spring. 

After  the  heavy  loss, 

Cometh  the  gain  : 
Joy,  rest,  and  comfort, 

After  the  pain. 

After  the  bondage, 

Songs  of  the  free  : 
After  the  failure, 

Glad  victory. 

After  repentance 

Over  the  sin, 
Free,  full  forgiveness, 

Sweet  peace  within. 


60  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

After  life's  burdens, 
Pressing  so  sore, 

Then  "Alabama,"— 
Rest  evermore. 

After  the  struggle, 
The  Father's  smile  : 

Welcome,  Heaven's  welcome, 
After  awhile. 


WHAT  WILT  THOU  HAVE  ME  TO  DO? 

"And  he  said  unto  them,  (  Go  ye  also  into  my  Vineyard.' " 

WHAT  wilt  Thou  have  me  do,  O  Lord  ? 
I  have  heard  Thee  calling  to-night, 
"  Go  forth,  go  forth  and  gather  in  ; 

The  fields  for  the  harvest  are  white. 
The  summer  is  ended,  the  laborers  are  few : 
There  is  work  for  all.     There  is  work  for  you." 
Oh,  what  will  Thou  have  me  to  do  ? 

What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do,  O  Lord  ? 

Will  it  be  the  work  of  my  choice  ? 
Doing  that  part  I  would  gladly  do, 

Or  shall  I  await  Thy  voice, 
Calling  perhaps  in  the  noontide  heat, 
Or  bidding  me  sit  in  the  lowest  seat 

To  do  Thy  will  as  I  wait  at  Thy  feet  ? 


WHA  T  WIL  T  THOU  HA  VE  ME   TO  DO?      6 1 

What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do,  O  Lord  ? 

The  prayer  is  sincere  which  I  ask. 
I  dare  not  trust  in  myself  alone 

To  choose  such  responsible  task. 
If  Thou  but  illumine  my  lamp,  '  t  will  shine 
Tho'  small  may  it  be.     O  Master  divine, 

I  will  suffer  all  choice  in  this  work  to  be  Thine. 

What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do,  O  Lord  ? 

Thou  knowest  how  weak  are  my  powers  ; 
But  Thou  knowest  too  there  is  much  I  can  do 

In  the  midst  of  my  busiest  hours. 
The  noble  efforts  of  others  I  see  : 
They  are  doing  grand  work  in  the  vineyard  for 
Thee, 

But  I  know  Thou  hast  something  for  even  me. 

What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do,  O  Lord  ? 

As  I  join  the  laboring  band  ? 
Will  it  be  the  binding  of  precious  sheaves 

Fresh  from  the  reaper's  hand  ? 
Or,  shall  I  follow  with  lowly  mind, 
The  path  quite  alone,  and  only  bind 

A  few  which  the  others  have  left  behind  ? 

What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do,  O  Lord  ? 

Thy  will  is  the  wisest  and  best. 
Wherever  Thou  leadest,  the  way  must  be  right, 

And  in  that  thought  I  will  rest. 
The  work  which  Thou  givest,  I'll  undertake, 
And  though  I  may  falter  and  make  mistake, 

Thou  wilt  surely  accept  it  for  Jesus'  sake. 

Written  for  the  Y.  P.  C.  U.  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  September 
21,  1885. 


62  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

ONE  YEAR  AGO. 

YOU  were  sitting  by  the  window  here, 
Only  a  year  ago: 

You  folded  me  in  a  warm  embrace, 
I  pressed  a  kiss  on  your  dear,  sweet  face, 
And  to-day  you  are  gone  —  oh,  Sadie  dear, 
Can  it,  can  it  be  so  ? 

We  spoke  of  what  the  future  might  bring, 

Would  it  be  weal  or  woe  ? 
That  night,  before  we  went  to  rest, 
You  spoke  of  him  who  loved  you  best, 
And  blushingly  showed  me  the  mystic  ring, 

Only  a  year  ago. 

I  sit  alone  by  the  window  here, 

In  the  sunset's  deepening  glow, 
While  you  from  me  are  so  far  away, 
That  where  you  dwell  is  endless  day, 
But  I  know  you  are  happier,  Sadie  dear, 
Than  you  were  a  year  ago. 

Ought  I  to  call  you  back  to  me  ? 

Grieve  and  long  for  you  so  ? 
If  you  could  hear  my  passionate  cry, 
Would  you  care  to  leave  your  home  on  high  ? 
If  you  could,  would  you  care  to  come,  and  be 

As  you  were  a  year  ago  ? 

God's  will  is  wisest,  His  choice  is  best. 
I  will  patiently  watch  and  wait : 


A     TWILIGHT  DREAM.  63 

For  I  know  the  summons  will  come  some  day, 
That  will  call  me  from  earth's  scenes  away  ; 
Then  we  shall  meet,  and  we  shall  rest, 
Beyond  the  pearly  Gate. 

Composed  May  30,  1882. 
Inscribed  to  the  memory  of 

Sadie  J.  Peck. 
"  For  so  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 


A  TWILIGHT  DREAM. 

To  Emma  A.  Childs. 

AS  I  sit  in  the  twilight,  dear  Emma, 
My  thoughts  are  roaming  wide, 
And  I  feel  an  instinctive  longing 
To  have  you  close  by  my  side. 
There  is  much  that  I  wish  to  tell  you 

Of  all  that  I  hope  to  do, 
And  many  a  little  heart-secret 
I  might  whisper  to  only  you. 

There  is  many  a  mile  between  us, 

And  many  a  month,  I  fear, 
Yet  in  spirit,  dear  Emma, 

I  believe  we  are  very  near. 
We  have  still  the  happy  medium 

Of  letters,  with  comfort  fraught, 
Words  of  cheer  and  encouragement, 

And  the  interchange  of  thought. 


64  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

I  picture  you  sitting,  it  may  be, 

Alone  in  your  quiet  room, 
With  the  Book  of  all  books  before  you, 

In  the  twilight's  gathering  gloom  : 
Now  as  the  shadows  deepen, 

You  close  the  Book  on  your  knee, 
And  I  say,  "In  the  calm  of  the  evening, 

She  may  be  thinking  of  me." 

My  affection  knows  no  distance, 

And  I  stand  beside  your  chair, 
Though  you  may  not  see  me,  Emma, 

In  spirit  I  surely  am  there. 
Your  love  is  so  precious,  my  dear  one, 

Your  friendship  so  sweet  to  me, 
'Twill  endure  long  after  this  mortal 

Puts  on  immortality. 

And  when  will  that  be  I  wonder? 

Ah,  when  shall  the  veil  intervene, 
That  shall  separate  us  for  a  season, 

While  a  river  is  rolling  between  ? 
Do  not  let  it  sadden  you,  darling, 

"The  Lord  watch  between  me  and  thee," 
He  will  watch,  and  our  love  shall  strengthen, 

Wherever  our  life  may  be. 

I  sometimes  vaguely  wonder 

Who  first,  will  cross  the  tide  : 
For  which  one  the  summoning  angel 

Will  draw  the  thin  veil  aside. 


A    TWILIGHT  DREAM.  65 

Will  you  be  the  first,  I  wonder, 

To  pass  from  earth's  scenes  away  ? 

Will  the  angel  first  bring  to  your  vision 
The  light  of  eternal  Day  ? 

Shall  I  be  left  to  labor 

Alone  and  without  the  smile 
Of  your  face  ?     Ah  well,  God  knoweth  ! 

It  will  be  but  a  little  while. 
My  fancy  can  dimly  imagine 

The  rapture  your  soul  will  greet, 
When  the  shining  portals  open, 

And  you  enter  with  eager  feet. 

The  friend  we  loved  and  cherished, 

Your  entrance  will  await, 
Perhaps  the  first  to  welcome  you, 

As  you  enter  the  pearly  Gate. 
Methinks  you  will  take  the  dear  hand, 

As  she  holds  it  out  to  you, 
Not  that  you  need  it,  but  because 

It  will  be  as  you  used  to  do. 

Then  as  you  utter  her  dear  name, 

While  she  leads  you  along  the  way, 
And  the  glory  is  shining  about  you, 

What  will  be  the  next  word  you  will  say  ? 
"Jesus  !  you  know  and  have  seen  Him, 

In  the  most  Holy  Place. 
Show  me  the  way  to  Jesus  — 

I  would  see  him  face  to  face." 


66  SOA'GS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

And  while^she  is  telling,  in  language 

Only  to  spirits  given, 
Of  the  beauty  of  the  Bridegroom, 

The  Lord  and  King  of  Heaven, 
Upon  your  glorified  vision, 

Too  dazzling  for  mortal  sight, 
There  dawns  an  infinite  glory, 

The  very  Light  of  Light. 

But,  oh,  my  love  !  it  was  only 

A  passing  fancy's  gleam. 
I  am  sitting  still  in  the  twilight  — 

It  was  only  a  beautiful  dream ! 
But  let  us  trust  and  be  patient : 

Take  courage  and  be  strong, 
The  light  of  an  endless  Morning 

Will  dawn  for  us  ere  long. 

Mizpah. 

1885. 

FAITH,  HOPE,  AND  LOVE. 

FAITH,    Hope,     and  Love:    choice    boons    lo 
mortals  given. 

Faith  claims  the  promise,  enters  into  rest: 
Hope  sheds  new  light  upon  the  way  to  Heaven, 

But  Christian  Love,  including  all,  is  best. 
Happy  the  soul  who  doth  these  gems  possess, 

Which  shine  like  diamonds  in  jeweled  crown. 
More  blessed  he,  who  being  blest  doth  bless, 

For  he  who  cheereth  other  souls,  doth  soothe  his 
own. 


NOT  LOST.  67 


1  MY  WORDS  SHALL  NOT  PASS  AWAY.' 

AS  the  clustering  constellations, 
Gleaming  in  their  radiant  light, 
Ever  shine  with  brighter  lustre 

In  a  dark  and  gloomy  night ; 
So  the  precious  words  of  Jesus, 

When  our  cherished  hopes  have  flown, 
Brighter  gleam  than  stars  of  glory, 

Come  like  ministering  angels  down. 
Down  upon  the  fevered  spirit, 

Burdened  with  its  weight  of  care  ; 
Soothing,  comforting,  and  cheering, 

Shedding  sunshine  everywhere. 
Heaven  and  earth  may  melt  and  vanish, 

Pass  away  what  seemeth  sure, 
But  the  precious  words  of  Jesus 

Shall  forevermore  endure. 


NOT  LOST. 

"It  shall  not  return  unto  me  void." — Isaiah  55:  n. 

LET  all  who  work  for  God,  with  pen  or  voice, 
Pencil  or  hand,  hold  steadfast  in  true  faith. 
He  who  inspires  the  thought,  who  to  the  hand 
Gives  skill  and  cunning,  will  most  surely  see 
The  thing  accomplished  whereunto  'tis  sent. 
The  meadow  lark  pours  out  its  morning  song : 
[t  does  its  part.     God  hears  —  it  is  not  lost. 
A  farmer  lad,  mayhap,  whose  roughened  hands 
Hold  firm  the  heavy  plough,  catches  the  note. 


68  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

Within  this  heart,  his  cramped  and  narrow  life 
A  fountain  rich  in  sweetness  is  unsealed : 
While  through  the  ragged  furrow  he  plods  on, 
Pure  thoughts  are  shaping  into  noble  deeds, 
And  from  that  deed  may  countless  blessings  rise. 

A  violet  blooms  beside  a  mossy  spring : 
Only  a  wee  violet,  whose  tender  roots 
Hold  fast  the  pinch  of  earth  about  the  stones. 
Its  modest  face  beams  in  the  sunshine  warm. 
There  stands  beside  the  spring,  a  wanderer : 
His  life  is  dark  with  misery  and  sin. 
His  eye  lights  on  the  tender  flower  till  thought 
Leaps  back  to  the  old  home  ;  the  days  gone  by. 
The  father's  voice  is  ringing  in  his  ears : 
A  loving  hand,  his  mother's,  that  long  since 
Has  mouldered  into  dust,  now  clasps  his  own, 
Then  trembles  on  his  head. 

Those  death-sealed  lips, 
Once  breathing  tones  of  gentleness  and  love, 
Whisper  his  name.     He  yields  at  last, 
While  memory  runs  riot  through  his  soul. 
He  kneels  beside  the  unconscious  flower, 
While  tears  of  penitence  pour  from  his  eyes. 
God  has  glanced  in  upon  his  wayward  soul, 
Through  the  sweet  medium  of  the  violet. 
We  gather  all  our  strength,  and  yet  our  work, 
Compared  with  the  achievements  of  the  great, 
Whose  lives  shine  out  from  the  dark  centuries 
(Gleaming,  starlike,  the  brighter  for  the  dark), 


BLUE   EYES.  69 


May  seem  to  us  but  utter  worthlessness, 

But  we  are  wrong.    God  moves:  we  work  and  wait. 

Our  bravest  effort  is  as  naught  unless 

His  allwise  Hand  accepts  and  uses  it. 

Be  not   disheartened, 

Rest  assured  in  this : 
The  noble  and  the  good  can  never  die. 
Not  one  true  thought,  God  given,  can  lose  its  way ; 
No  lofty,  generous  deed  is  ever  lost. 

Written  for  the  Epworth  League,  May,  1886. 


BLUE  EYES. 

"God  gives  thee  youth  but  once:   keep  then  the  child-like 
heart,  that  will  His  Kingdom  be." 

WHAT  are  you  thinking  of,  grave  little  miss, 
With  lips  still  warm  from  my  last  fond  kiss  ? 
With  thoughtful  look  on  your  pale,  pure  brow ; 
What  problem  profound  are  you  solving  now  ? 

Perhaps  you  are  dreaming  of  fairyland, 
While  leaning  soft  cheek  on  your  dimpled  hand  5 
What  lies  concealed  in  that  sweet  disguise? 
Tell  me  the  secret,  little  blue  eyes. 

Life  lies  before  you,  little  blue  eyes, 
Holding  in  store  much  of  happy  surprise  : 
But  its  lessons  are  hard  and  the  world  is  cold  : 
Our  youth  is  brief,  and  we  soon  grow  old. 


7O  SOA'GS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Oh,  could  I  keep  you,  dear  little  miss, 
Forever  as  pure  as  your  last  sweet  kiss  ! 
Forever  secure  from  the  world's  subtle  snare, 
Forever  free  from  its  worry  and  care  ! 

Not  young  in  years  would  I  keep  you,  my  dear, 
For  fresh  charms  are  added  with  every  year: 
But  as  innocent,  trustful  in  spirit,  as  mild 
As  you  are  now,  darling,  my  precious  child  ! 

She  heeds  not  my  musing,  so  enrapt  she  seems, 
So  lost  in  the  maze  of  her  bright,  golden  dreams. 
Muse  on,  gentle  dreamer,  and  we  shall  see 
Time  will  solve  all  problems  for  both  you  and  me. 


MABEL. 

"  My  Beautiful  "  the  name  signifies. 

ALONE  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight  hour, 
While  the  dew  lies  soft  on  the  meadow-land, 
Where  they  laid  my  little  flower  away  one  day, 
I  gaze  afar  in  the  starlit  skies, 
And  long  for  one  sight  of  my  baby's  eyes, 
One  touch  of  her  soft  dimpled  hand. 

O  Mabel !  my  beautiful  pearl, 

With  spirit  as  pure  as  the  snow, 
Do  you  know,  my  own  darling  girl, 

How  your  mother  does  love  you  so  ? 


RE  TROSPECTION.  7 1 

How  she  never  forgets,  never  will, 

All  the  beautiful  songs  of  your  choice  ? 

How  she  hears  the  sweet  melody  still, 
Of  your  dear,  dainty  baby  voice  ? 

I  can  not  but  think,  little  pet, 

Although  in  the  mansions  above, 
Your  spirit  can  never  forget 

The  home  and  the  hearts  that  you  love. 

Oh,  how  sweet  when  I  lay  the  cross  down, 
And  receive  my  reward  in  the  skies, 

To  clasp  your  dear  hand  in  my  own, 
And  read  love  in  your  little  blue  eyes  ! 

May  30,  1886. 

RETROSPECTION. 


i 


"  Tis  thy  grave,  oh,  my  darling !  now  laid  in  the  tomb ; 
IJecause  thou  hast  withered  the  violets  bloom." 

SIT  beside  her  little  grave  to-day. 

'Tis  Sabbath,  and  a  solemn  stillness  reigns 
Over  the**ilent  city  of  the  dead. 
All  is  so  peaceful  now,  after  the  din 
And  wild  confusion  of  the  busy  week  ; 
So  far  away  from  all  the  outer  world, 
So  far  apart,  it  seems  a  little  world 
Transplanted  by  itself,  and  very  near 
To  the  immortal  hills  of  Paradise. 
I  gaze  in  awe  upon  the  lowly  mounds, 
Beneath  whose  turf  so  peacefully  there  lies 


72  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

The  precious  dust  of  kindred  and  of  friend. 
Others  to  me  unknown,  yet  to  some  heart 
As  precious  and  as  sacred  as  mine  own. 
The  birds  in  the  green  branches  o'er  my  head 
Are  singing  sweetest  songs,  each  to  his  mate. 
I'm  glad  they  gather  in  this  lovely  spot, 
To  carol  forth  their  praise  to  God  :  't  is  meet, 
'Tis  fitting  that  their  songs  should  rise  to  Him 
Where  underneath  are  laid  to  rest  His  own. 

An  hour  is  this  for  holy  memories  : 

For  solemn  musing  and  for  retrospect ; 

And  yet  —  and  yet,  I  had  not  come  for  this  : 

My  soul  was  hungering  for  my  baby's  love. 

I  thought  to  seek  this  sacred  spot,  and  there 

Pour  out  upon  her  little  grave  my  tears. 

I  lay  my  hand  upon  her  little  bed, 

And  press  so  tenderly  the  soft,  cool  moss 

That  forms  for  it  a  gentle  coverlid ; 

Just  as  in  days  of  yore,  when  twilight  fell 

I  used  to  sit  beside  her  other  bed 

And  sing  soft  lullaby  until  she  slept. 

Whence  comes  this  sudden  calm  within  my  soul  ? 

Where  is  my  breaking  heart  —  its  flood  of  tears, 

That,  as  I  neared  this  hallowed  spot, 

Welled  up,  a  rushing  flood,  until  my  eyes 

Were  blinded  to  the  scene  I  now  behold  ? 

I  brought  fair  flowers  to  place  upon  her  grave, 
The  flowers  she  loved  to  gather  and  admire. 
They  speak  to  me  of  precious  memories, 
Of  happy  hours  in  life's  glad  summer  time. 


RE  TROSPECTION.  7  3 

I  lay  them  gently  there,  and  while  I  breathe 

Their  perfume  and  admire  their  loveliness, 

I  know  that  even  they  must  fade  and  die. 

See  !  While  I  sit  in  silent  reverie, 

A  honey  bee  has  settled  in  the  heart 

Of  one,  and  draws  rich  nectar  from  its  depths. 

Is  there  for  me  one  honeyed  drop  of  hope  ? 

What  speak  you  to  my  soul,  fair  messengers  ? 

Methinks  they  whisper  to  my  listening  ear 

Of  that  fair  Land  of  Immortality : 

Of  that  eternal  City  of  the  Blest, 

Where  in  whose  midst  a  river  flows  serene, 

And  on  whose  fadeless  banks  must  be 

Rare  flowers  immortal. 

There  blooms  my  rosebud  : 
The  tender  flower  I  cherished  lovingly, 
Now  broken  from  its  earthly  stem,  and  laid — 
So  safely  laid  upon  the  Shepherd's  breast ! 
Hush  !  hush  !  my  soul !   He  speaks  ! 

He  draweth  nigh ! 

Open,  thou  secret  chamber  of  my  soul ! 
He  comes,  as  in  the  long  ago,  unto 
The  stricken  hearts  at  Bethany, 
And  mingled  with  their  bitter  tears  His  own. 
I  hear  the  same  life-giving  word  of  power  : 
"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. 
He  that  believeth  on  Me,  were  he  dead 
Yet  shall  he  live  again." 

Shall  live  again  ! 
As  Martha,  wondered  at  his  mighty  words, 


74  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Yet  in  full  confidence  believed  her  Lord, 
So  do  I  now  respond,  "  Lord,  I  believe  !  " 
Lord,  I  believe  —  I  can  not  understand, 
Yet  I  believe  Thy  sacred  promise  true, 
That  I  shall  clasp  her  in  mine  arms  again  ; 
These  hungery  arms  that  reach  only  to  grasp 
The  empty  air :  that  I  shall  lay  her  head 
Again,  again  upon  my  aching  breast. 

Three  months  ago  I  tarried  in  this  spot 
To  gather  violets,  that,  here  and  there, 
Had  opened  their  frail  petals  at  the  breath 
Of  balmy  spring.     They  all  have  faded  now, 
And  I  can  scarcely  trace  a  single  leaf 
Which  once  soft  folded  them  in  warm  embrace. 
But,  oh !  I  know  that  lying  just  beneath 
The  little  roots  and  seeds  —  the  germs  of  life 
Are  hidden  so  secure,  and  by  and  by 
After  the  summer  heat,  and  yet  again, 
After  long  days  and  nights  of  winter's  reign, 
When  piercing  winds  shall  melt  in  balmy  breath 
To  woo  once  more  the  sleeping  seeds  to  life, 
That  I  shall  find  my  tender  flowers  again. 

I  shall  not  grieve  because  my  last  year's  buds 
Have  withered,  for  perhaps  the  mellow  soil 
Will  work  its  wonders  on  the  slumbering  germ, 
And  I  shall  say,  when  low  I  bend  to  pluck 
And  place  them  on  this  sacred  grave, 
"  My  violets  !   My  violets  have  come  ! 
More  beautiful,  by  far  more  beautiful 


MATTIK.  75 


Than  when  I  gathered  them  a  year  ago  !  "    " 

So  it  will  be,  I  think,  after  a  while  ; 

After  the  fiery  heat  of  this  affliction  : 

After  the  long,  long  years  (it  may  be  so) 

Of  weary  waiting  and  of  patient  toil, 

The  time  will  come  —  just  how  I  can  not  see  — 

When  this  cold  world  shall  fade,  this  flesh  dissolve, 

And  I  shall  wake  to  clasp  her  once  again. 

Lovely  she  was  when  last  I  saw  my  child, 

But,  oh  !  if  mortal  flesh  such  grace  contains, 

What  to  my  ravished  sight  will  the  immortal  be  ? 

It  will  be  worth  it  all :  the  bitterness 

Of  parting  and  the  separation,  with 

The  awful  pang  of  loneliness. 

I  shall  forget  my  pain  on  that  glad  Morn  : 

I  shall  be  satisfied —  and  I  will  wait. 


MATTIE. 

And  Jesus  called  a  little  child  unto  Him." — Matthew  18  : 2. 

SHE  came  to  me  all  sweet  and  fair, 
My  angel  in  disguise  : 
I  caught  the  sunlight  in  her  hair, 
The  azure  in  her  eyes. 

A  throng  of  merry,  laughing  girls 

Came  trooping  by  my  door ; 
I  smiled  to  watch  their  dancing  curls, 

As  I  had  done  before. 


76  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

But  'mid  that  merry  little  class, 

So  gaily  skipping  by, 
But  one,  a  gentle,  winsome  lass, 

Held  captive  heart  and  eye. 

I  hastened  from  the  window  seat, 
And  called  her  to  my  side  : 

Although  she  came  with  willing  feet, 
Her  blue  eyes  opened  wide. 

The  dimpled  mouth,  the  ruddy  cheek, 
Both  held  a  charm  for  me, 

But  when  I  heard  her  softly  speak, 
I  murmured,  "  Can  it  be  ? " 

I  bade  her  stay ;  she  shook  her  head  ; 

"  I  've  been  down  to  the  store, 
See,  here's  my  money  and  my  bread, 

I  can  't  stay  any  more." 

"  But  wont  you  kiss  me,  little  one  ?  " 
"  O  yes — what  makes  you  cry  ?  " 

"Because,"  I  said,  "I  am  alone." 
"  But  I  must  go — good  bye." 

I  gave  to  her  a  summer  bloom, 
A  rosebud  white  and  fair  : 

And  in  my  heart  I  made  her  room, 
And  fain  had  held  her  there. 

But  soon  she  glided  down  the  street, 
Some  other  home  to  brighten, 


j/r  BIRD.  77 


Some  mamma  lists  the  coming  feet, 
Some  other  heart  will  lighten. 

While  in  the  slowly  gathering  gloom, 

There  sits  a  mother  weeping : 
O  'er  one  wee  grave  white  roses  bloom — 

Her  little  child  lies  sleeping. 

July  i,  1886. 


MY  BIRD. 

"  The  Eternal  God  is  thy  refuge,  and  underneath  are  the 

everlasting  arms." 

February  13,  1886. 

A  fair,  white  dove  she  was,  for  when  she  came 
(A  timid,  helpless  thing)  her  little  wings 
Were  folded,  and  in  trustfulness  she  leaned 
Her  head  upon  my  breast,  and  nestled  there. 
I  listened  to  her  cooing,  day  by  day, 
Until  my  heart  grew  glad ;  and  I  forgot 
My  anguish  and  my  pain.      She  bro 't  me  peace  : 
She  bro't  me  sunshine,  and  indeed  she  seemed 
A  ray  of  sunlight  from  the  realms  of  Light. 
She  loved  me — did  my  gentle  bird,  and  oh  ! 
Can  language  e  'er  express  how  dear  she  was 
To  me  ?     I  watched  her  charms  unfold, 
Like  the  white  buds  beside  my  garden  path, 
That  blossomed  forth  in  fragrant  loveliness. 
I  held  her  closely  to  my  throbbing  breast, 
And  while  upon  my  bosom  she  reposed 
Her  little  head  in  restful,  calm  content 


78  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT, 


With  heart  that  overflowed  in  gratitude — 
I  thanked  the  glorious  Giver  for  his  gift. 
He  loved  the  little  bird  He  gave  to  me. 
He  loved  her,  and  He  bade  me  love  her  too 
With  all  the  depth  of  pure  affection  ;  but 
He  bade  me  love  Him  more — and,  oh,  I  did  ! 
'  Twas  He  who  gave  the  mother-love  to  me. 
'  Twas  He  who  gave  to  me  most  graciously 
Three  summers  of  her  pure  life.     Tenderly 
I  guarded  them.     As  months  passed  on  I  found 
He  gave  to  her  a  voice  to  sing  His  praise. 
And  then  my  dove — my  gentle,  cooing  dove- 
Became  a  little  song-bird  ;  and  all  day 
She  warbled  sweetly  to  the  praise  of  Him 
Who  smiled  upon  her,  and  who  loved  her  so. 
And  so  she  grew  in  grace  and  loveliness. 
From  morn  to  night  she  caroled  by  my  side, 
While  my  voice  blended  with  her  own,  which  bore 
More  tone,  but  less  of  sweetness.     I  was  grave  : 
I  felt  the  meaning  of  the  words  she  chose — 
For  in  those  days  she  sang  of  Paradise — 
With  eager,  upturned  face,  and  wondering  eyes. 
How  often  have  I  found  her  singing  thus, 
Alone,  unmindful  of  her  mother's  eye, 
And  I  have  left  her,  knowing  well  she  sang 
To  seraphs  and  to  angels,  not  to  me  ; 
Sweet  were  her  praises.     Every  day  her  voice 
Seemed  but  to  grow  in  sweetness. 

In  those  days 

I  grew  so  weak,  so  weary,  and  so  faint, 
I  could  no  longer  hold  her  in  my  arms, 


MY  BIRD.  79 


But  languished  on  my  couch.     'Twas  then  my  bird 

Became  both  dove  and  nightingale  to  me. 

Her  soft  voice  cooed  about  my  pillow:  then 

She  sang  her  little  songs,  and  flew  away 

To  gladden  other  hearts  about  the  home. 

There  came  a  day,  unlike  all  other  days  : 

She  sang  a  song,  a  new  song,  till  I  held 

My  breath  to  listen  and  to  wonder;  but 

My  bird,  unmindful  of  my  listening  ear, 

Sang  on,  then,  as  she  oft  had  done  before, 

Caroled  her  little  hymn,  "  O  Paradise  ! 

0  Paradise  !  Who  doth  not  crave  for  rest  !  " 

'  Twas  thus  she  sang  her  last  sweet  song  on  earth. 
Next  day  the    sky  grew  dark,    and    clouds,    thick 

clouds, 

Swift  gathered,  hiding  all  my  sunshine. 
'Twas  then  my  birdling  drooped  her  little  wings, 
And  cowered  her  gentle  head  beneath  them. 
The  day  grew  darker,  and  a  storm  came  on. 
The  sky  began  to  weep,  and  torrents  beat 
Like  muffled  drums  upon  the  window-pane. 

1  heard,  I  felt  it  all — the  storm,  the  tears, 
The  anguish,  but  she  heeded  not  the  storm. 
I  sat  beside  her,  and  I  held  her  close  ; 
Her  mild  blue  eyes  upturned  to  mine. 

She  smiled — 

I  breathed  her  precious  name.     She  answered  not. 
An  unseen  Guest  appeared.     His  voice  was  low. 
So  low  !  and  yet  she  heard  !     I  bowed  my  head. 
An  arrow  pierced  her  te'nder  heart !     My  dove  ! 
My  gentle,  cooing  dove,  who  never  knew  a  pang! 


8o  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 


I  held  her  closer  yet — then  let  her  go. 

She  fluttered  her  white  wings  and  soared  away  : 

Beyond  the  storm,  the  torrents  and  the  tears  ; 

Beyond  the  anguish  and  the  bitterness, 

Beyond  the  fever  and  the  pang  of  death, 

Beyond  all  harm,  beyond,  beyond  it  all  ! 

I  sat  alone.     The  skies  were  weeping  still. 

Upon  my  cheek  no  tear-drops  glimmered ;  yet, 

Ah,  me!     I  felt  it  all !     My  dove  had  gone  ! 

But  I  was  not  alone ;  another  Guest  appeared  ; 

I  felt  His  presence  soothe  my  soul. 

It  was  the  Comforter,  for  tenderly 

He  drew  me  to  Him,  and  upon  my  wounds 

He  poured  the  oil  of  consolation  and  of  calm. 

Such  calm  !     So  weak  I  was,  so  very  weak, 

I  had  no  power  to  raise  myself,  with  all 

The  crushing  weight  that  the  more  heavy  grew 

With  every  lengthening  hour.     Oh,  then  it  was 

That  underneath  my  burden  and  beneath  myself, 

My  poor,  weak,  trembling  self, 

He  placed  His  mighty,  everlasting  arms 

And  folded  me  to  sleep  upon  His  breast. 

And  there  He  kept  me ;  there  He  keeps  me  still. 

And  while  my  room  is  quiet,  and  my  heart 

Grows  hungry  for  her  love,  and  that  sweet  voice 

That  made  such  happy  music  in  my  home — 

My  home  that  seems  so  hushed  and  silent  now — 

T  is  then  He  tells  me  of  His  love.     Tis  then 

He  whispers  to  me  in  a  still,  small  voice, 

"Our  little  bird  is  safe  and  happy  now. 

'T  is  well  with  her,  for  she  is  singing  still 


PEACE.  8 1 


Among  the  fadeless  trees  of  Paradise. 

All,  all  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong.    'Tis  well." 

And  while  I  listen,  I  forget  my  pain, 

My  loss,  my  anguish,  and  my  soul  replies — 

"  T  is  well !     If  it  be  His  sweet  will,  't  is  well !  " 


PEACE. 

THERE'S  a  hush  that  breathes  of  Heaven 
In  the  air  ; 
There  's  a  calm  serene,  unbroken, 

Everywhere. 

In  this  hour  so  hushed  and  holy, 
Lord,  I  bow  to  Thee  in  lowly, 

Grateful  prayer. 

Let  me  hear  Thy  tender  whisper — 

Peace,  be  still ! 
Thou  canst  smooth  me  into  silence 

If  thou  will ; 

Banish  doubt  that  now  seems  thronging. 
Thou  canst  satisfy  my  longing : 

Thou  canst  fill. 

In  the  silence  I  am  kneeling 

At  Thy  feet. 
'  Tis  Thy  perfect  peace,  O  Saviour, 

I  entreat ! 

In  this  hush  so  deep,  unbroken, 
Something  tells  me  Thou  hast  spoken 

Peace  complete. 

August  2,  1886. 


82  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

MINISTRY. 

I    STEPPED  into  the  sunshine  yesterday. 
For  many  months  had  weariness  and  pain 
Confined  me  to  the  quiet  of  my  room ; 
But  as  I  drank  in  deep  refreshing  draughts 
The  morning  air,  I  said,  "  I  will  not  grieve, 
For  many  hearts  are  heavier  than  mine. 
The  world  is  wide  and  Nature  bounteous." 
My  footsteps  wandered  half-unconsciously 
Where,  in  the  brightness  of  her  morning  room, 
Upon  her  couch,  a  patient  sufferer  lay. 
Without,  December  sun  and  frosty  air; 
Within,  I  found  the  sunshine  waiting  me. 
Four  years  ago  the  Father's  tender  hand 
Was  laid  in  love  upon  His  trustful  child. 
He  called  her  from  a  busy  life,  where  hands 
And  heart  were  filled  with  noble  work, 
Saying,  "  Thy  task  was  nobly  done,  but  now 
Another  mission  waits  thee  in  thy  home, 
For  I  must  speak  through  thee  to  other  souls 
Thou  couldst  not  reach  before." 

And  so  it  was 

The  sunshine  reached  my  soul;  and  so  it  was 
She  preached  to  me  a  sermon  yesterday. 
That  morning  she  had  said,  "  Oh,  if  I  knew 
One  humble  word  of  mine  had  been  the  means 
Of  leading  but  one  soul  to  Jesus'  feet, 
I  think,  indeed,  that  I  could  rest  content." 
How  little  does  she  know  that  every  day 
Her  couch  becomes  a  pulpit,  and  her  face 


GEMS  OF  THE  BIBLE.  83 

Breathes  forth  the  love  of  God  to  other  souls ! 
Take  courage,  gentle  friend  !     These  weary  days 
Through  which  the  willing  hands  must  idle  be, 
Are  full  of  tender  ministries  for  Him. 
And  let  this  cheer  thee,  that  a  ray  of  hope 
And  comfort  from  thy  soul,  hath  cheered  mine  own- 
Inscribed  to  Ella.  1887. 
"  Ye  are  my  witnesses." 

Isaiah  43: 10. 


A 


GEMS    OF   THE   BIBLE. 

"  Peace  be  unto  you." 
S  in  the  darkest  caverns  of  the  earth 


The  richest  jewels  oft  lie  deep  concealed, 
Nor  flash  upon  the  eye  their  dazzling  worth, 

Until  by  patient  .toil  their  beauty  is  revealed ; 
So  in  the  mines  unfathomed  of  God's  word, 

The  richest  gems  of  truth  and  beauty  lie, 
And  never  to  the  soul  their  worth  afford, 

Till  prayerful  thought  has  solved  their  mystery. 

No  sparkling  diamond  of  real  worth 

Loses  its  lustre,  although  countless  years 
Have  passed  away  since  Nature  gave  it  birth, 

But  the  more  bright  and  beautiful  appears. 
E'en  so,  full  many  a  Bible  gem,  that  cost 

A  prayerful  search,  if  to  the  world  once  given, 
Doth  sparkle  more  and  more,  is  never  lost, 

But  serves  to  light  some  soul  the  way  to  heaven. 


84  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

Exhaustless  jewels  !  how  they  gleam  and  shine  ! 

Emeralds  of  faithfulness,  of  truth  and  light ; 
Diamonds  of  promise,  flashing  hope  divine  : 

Beryl  and  adamant  of  strength  and  might. 
Jaspars  of  purity,  rubies  of  joy, 

Jacinths  of  comfort ;   sapphires,  breathing  love, 
Love  all-embracing,  love  without  alloy, 

Deep  as  the  sea  and  broad  as  heavens  above. 

As  from  the  sea's  wild  crest,  to  depths  profound, 

Far,  far   beneath    the    waves    which    surge    and 

whirl, 
The  diver  plunges,  ocean's  depths  to  sound, 

And  finds  in  mollusk  shell  some  precious  pearl, 
So,  far  beneath  life's  cares  which  surge  and  roll, 

Deep  in  the  ocean  of  a  sweet  release, 
In  God's  own  Word  the  trustful  spirit-soul 

Finds,  hidden  deep,  the  pearl  of  perfect  peace. 

Fair  pearl  of  peace  !    O  gem  of  matchless  worth  ! 

Thrice  blest  is  He  who  claims  thee  for  His  own. 
That  pearl  of  greatest  price  is  not  of  earth  : 

It  cometh  from  the  glory-circled  Throne. 
Christ  is  its  Author:  for  "  My  Peace,"  He  saith, 

So  perfect,  so  complete  is  its  release  ! 
"  Peace  be  to  you,"  was  in  His  parting  breath  ; 

Peace    upon    earth  from    Him,   the   "  Prince  of 
Peace." 

January,  1886. 


SABBATH  HYMN.  85 

UNTIL    THE    DAY    DAWN. 

FATHER,  if  in  these  weary  hours  of  pain, 
Thou  wilt  grant  to    my  weak   and  faltering 

pen 
A  song  from  Thee;  one  sweet,  glad  refrain 

To  cheer  the  hearts  of  toiling,  suffering  men, 
That  I  may  know  my  life  is  not  in  vain, 
I  think  that  I  would  nevermore  complain. 

Grant  I  may  see  Thy  hand  in  all  distress ; 

May  learn  so  well  the  lesson  Thou  wouldst  teach, 
That  I  may  fill  some  sphere  of  usefulness. 

Oh,  if  some  line,  inspired  by  Thee,  might  reach 
Only  one  soul  who  seems  to  love  Thee  less, 

I  would  take  courage  in  my  weariness. 

October,  1889. 


SABBATH    HYMN. 
Tune  :  Rest. 

BLEST  Sabbath  !  day  of  calm  relief ; 
No  anxious  thought,  by  fear  distressed, 
No  cloud  of  care  or  unbelief 

Shall  dim  thy  light,  sweet  day  of  rest. 

The  failures,  Lord,  of  yesterday, 

The  sins  with  which  we  vainly  strove, 

Are  melting  at  the  dawn  away 
Before  Thy  never  changing  love. 


86  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

How  sweet  to  place  our  hands  in  Thine ! 

How  blessed  to  resign  our  care ! 
To  rest  within  Thine  Arms  divine — 

Keep  us,  O  Lord  !  forever  there. 

In  this  glad  light  of  endless  love, 
Each  day  may  be  a  Sabbath  new. 

An  open  gate  to  joys  above, 

Where  angel  hands  shall  lead  us  through. 


ONE    SABBATH. 

THE  sultry  Sabbath  day  was  at  its  close. 
Before  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts  alone 
The  preacher  sat,  in  sad  and  pensive  mood. 
The  burden  of  his  sacred  charge  had  weighed 
How  heavily  his  people  little  knew : 
How  often  too,  in  prayer  and  speech  that  day, 
While  seeking  earnestly  to  lift  their  souls 
Above  the  grovelling  cares  of  life,  his  own 
Was  raised  in  mute  appeal  for  strength. 
They  could  not  know,  how  thro'  the  busy  week 
The  pressure  of  his  sermon  had  increased 
Until  to-day,  more  than  had  been  his  wont 
He  felt  an  utter  hopelessness  before 
The  mighty  grandeur  of  his  chosen  theme. 
The  souls  he  hoped  to  reach  that  day,  alas ! 
Had — purposely  perhaps — remained  at  home. 
How  might  he  reach  those  careless  ones, 
Who,  day  by  day,  had  shunned  his  kind  appeal  ? 


ONE  SABBATH.  87 

Others  there  were,  among  his  guarded  flock, 

Who  by  their  thoughtless  words  and  critical, 

Had  injured  much  the  good  he  might  have  done, 

Standing  as  stumbling  blocks  in  others'   way. 

How  could  he  show  to  them  their  sad  mistake 

While  he  had  constant  need  of  charity  ? 

The  hour  of  evening  prayer  was  nigh  at  hand, 

When  opening  a  note  received  that  day, 

And  quite  forgotten,  hastily  he  read  : 

"Dear  pastor:  It  is  Sunday,  and  I  know 

That  you  are  overtaxed,  but  I  am  worse, 

And  ask  if  I  may  see  you  once  again." 

A  little  later  he  entered  a  room 

Where,  in  her  beauty,  lay  a  dying  girl. 

The  light  of  that  Eternal  City,  which 

Ere  many  days  would  dawn  upon  her  sight, 

Reflected  on  her  face ;  yet  his  keen  eye 

Discerned  a  restless,  wistful  look,  which  spoke 

Of  helpless  clinging  to  the  life  she  loved. 

"If  I  but  knew,"  she  whispered,  "that  my  life 

Had  not  been  all  a  failure  !     Do  you  think 

He  will  accept  the  broken  life  I  yield, 

When  he  has  known  the  good  I  might  have  done  ? 

My  plans  were  noble,  and  I  tried,  but  see 

How  hopelessly  I  failed  !  " 

"Nay,  say  not  so, 

My  child,"  he  said,  "our  heavenly  Father  asks 
Not  full  success,  but  simply  faithfulness. 
Can  you  not  trust  His  love,  leaving  to  Him 
The  work  which  seems  to  you  so  incomplete?" 
Then  kneeling  by  her  side  he  prayed — 


88  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"O  God! 

Who  knowest  all  things  ;  all  our  fears,  our  griefs 
Over  those  plans  but  half  fulfilled  ;  dost  know 
How  weak  we  are,  yet  how  we  love  Thy  cause, 
Descend  to  comfort  and  support  our  souls, 
That  we  in  life  and  death  may  cheerfully 
Accept  Thy  will — In  Jesus'  name,  Amen." 

The  answer  came.     From  the  pale  sufferer's  face 

There  shone   the  radiance  of  God's  perfect  peace  : 

And  in  the  pastor's  soul  was  born  anew 

Courage  and  strength  to  labor  and  endure. 

The  preacher  laid  aside  his  chosen  text 

That  night,  and  spoke  with  overflowing  heart 

Of  the  great  love  of  the  Eternal  God. 

Hard  hearts  were  melted  in  that  hour 

To  tears  of  penitence,  while  others,  too, 

Who  came  to  criticise,  remained  to  pray. 

His  people  did  not  know  how  this  rich  blessing 

Came  into  his  soul,  but  after  service  closed, 

They  grasped  his   hand,  and   some  were  heard  to 

say— 
"God  ever  bless  you  for  your  faithfulness  !  " 

August  12,   1889. 


BY  THE  SEA. 

"The  sea  is  His." 

OH,  peaceful  hours  by  the  sea  ! 
Glad  days  that  have  passed  away  ! 
They  gleam  on  the  page  of  memory 
Like  a  vision  of  yesterday. 


BY  THE  SEA.  89 


In  fancy  I  follow  again, 

\Yhere  ocean  and  sky  seem  to  meet, 
Each  billow  that  travels  the  mighty  main, 

'Till  it  shivers  and  falls  at  my  feet. 

I  travel  the  rock  strewn  path, 

By  the  water's  restless  side, 
To  behold  how  in  impotent  wrath 

The  waves  plunge  in  with  the  tide. 

I  gather  with  childish  hands 

Fair  moss  from  the  pebbly  shore ; 

Then  rest,  with  my  pillow  the  shining  sands. 
My  companion,  the  ocean's  roar. 

Oh,  that  solemn  twilight  hour, 

As  we  watched  the  tide  roll  in  ! 
It  seemed  like  the  love  of  God — that  power 

That  shall  triumph  over  sin. 

Surely  if  God  so  measured  the  sea, 

And  holds  it  His  palm  within, 
Upon  His  heart  must  be  room  for  me : 

His  mercy  will  gather  us  in. 

Sweet  summer  hours  by  the  sea, 

Like  a  day-dream  they  came  and  went. 

How  much  they  brightened  life  for  me ! 
How  they  filled  my  heart  with  content ! 

Oh,  mighty  and  wonderful  sea, 

Throbbing  ever  the  same  as  to-day, 

You  cannot  bring  again  to  me 

The  days  that  have  passed  away ! 

July  26,  1890. 


90  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 


MY  MESSAGE. 

HOW  rich  is  the  fragrant  breath  of  the  pines  ! 
How  solemn    and  grand  are  their   towering 

forms ! 
Here  the   gay   birds   chirp,    here    the  gray    moss 

twines, 

Swaying  and  clinging  through  sunshine  and  storms 
On  their  mighty  branches.     Here  underneath, 
Trembling  at  touch  of  my  very  breath, 
Are  the  delicate  ferns  and  creeping  vines, 
And  under  all,  softer  than  tapestry, 
A  gift  from  these  ever-shedding  pines, 
A  bountiful  carpet  is  spread  for  me. 
Yonder  there  lies,  in  its  majesty  still, 
An  uprooted  trunk,  like  a  wreck  at  sea. 
What  force  caused  your  fibres  to  quiver  and  thrill, 
And  then  left  you  lying  so  helplessly  ? 
Why  were  you  stricken,  of  strength  bereft  ? 
Why  were  you  taken  and  others  left? 
But  see,  farther  on,  what  distraction  I  find ; 
A  mightier  force  than  the  raging  wind, 
A  bolt  shot  forth  from  tempestuous  skies 
Has  severed  this  gigantic  tree  in  twain. 
Its  bark,  torn  and  twisted,  all  shattered  lies, 
Leaving  the  wood  without  spot  or  stain 
Of  the  awful  fire.     All  clean  and  fine, 
It  fills  the  pure  air  with  a  perfumed  pine. 
I  had  never  known  thee,  thou  mighty  form, 
I  had  never  inhaled  thine  aroma  sweet, 
Had  not  the  bolt  of  a  thunderous  storm 


MY  MESSAGE.  9! 


Pierced  thee,  and  opened  thy  heart  at  my  feet. 
There's  a  hush  in  the  forest,  while  far  away 
I  hear  little  children  laughing  at  play. 
I  check  my  lips  in  their  careless  song, 
And  I  hold  my  breath  unconsciously. 
There  is  silence  amid  the  feathered  throng, 
I  wait,  for  a  message  is  coming  to  me. 

There's  a  rustle,  a  breeze,  and  those  fronds  of  fir, 

Like  trembling  fingers,  are  all  astir. 

They  quiver,  they  whisper,  then   murmur  and  roar 

Like  the  ceaseless  swell  of  a  mighty  sea ; 

Like  wild  waves  beating  upon  the  shore  ; 

Like  a  thousand  voices  in  harmony. 

I  gather  no  longer  the  crisping  cone, 

I  cast  my  delicate  grasses  away ; 

I  lie  on  my  mossy  pillow  alone, 

Forgetting  the  songs  of  the  children  at  play ; 

I  heed  not  the  birds  in  the  evergreen  trees, 

Who  send  forth  their  praise  on  the  passing  breeze ; 

I  only  hear  from  the  murmuring  pine 

A  language  my  pen  can  never  portray; 

A  message  has  come  to  this  soul  of  mine 

From  the  unseen  realms  of  eternal  day. 

Lincoln  Farm,  August  16,  1887. 


92  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

ALICE. 

"  He  shall  gather  the  lambs  with  His  arm." — ISAIAH  40:  IT. 

A    NOTHER  little  life  has  drifted  from  the  shore 
jL\     And  passed  beyond  death's  deep  and  chill- 
ing wave ; 

In  heaven  another  angel's  song — one  more — 
On  earth  another  little  waiting  grave. 

Another  severed  tress  of  shining  gold  ; 

Another  mother  weeping  for  her  own  ; 
But  There — "  their  angels  do  always  behold 

My  Father's  face  "  before  the  great  white  throne. 

Another  tiny,  pure  white  hand,  with  love 
To  beckon  us  from  out  the  starry  skies ; 

Another  welcome  waiting  up  above, 
Another  jewel  where  our  treasure  lies. 

Another  lamb  the  tender  Shepherd  leads, 

Among  the  everlasting  hills  divine, 
To  pasture  with  His  flock  in  heavenly  meads, 

But,  oh,  that  precious  little  lamb  was  mine  ! 

Once  mine  to  rear,  to  cherish  and  to  hold, 
To  guard  with  all    a  mother's  jealous  care; 

Is  she  no  longer  mine,  now  in  His  fold  ? 
Nay,  nay !  but  mine  to  love  forever  there. 

My  little  lamb  !  so  safely  gathered  in  ; 

So  sheltered  from  the  blight  of  winter's  breath  ; 
So  safe,  secure  from  every  stain  of  sin, 

Beyond  the  cold,  relentless  grasp  of  death. 


CHIME   BELLS.  93 


My  little  lamb  !  safe  in  the  Shepherd's  arm, 
If  God  had  spared  you  to  me  here  below, 

Could  I  have  sheltered  you  from  every  harm, 
Could  even  my  great  love  have  kept  you  so  ? 

Never  a  grief  shall  reach  my  darling  now, 
Never  for  thee  a  single  moment's  pain  ; 

No  anxious  thought  shall  mar  thy  gentle  brow, 
Mine  is  the  bitter  loss,  but  thine  the  gain  ! 

Composed  Easter  Sunday,  April  i,  1888. 


CHIME  BELLS. 

To  be  a  memorial  unto  the  children."— NUMKERS  16:40. 

RING,  silvery  bells,  your  peaceful  chime 
Upon  the  still  night  air  ; 
We  listen  to  your  melody 
Till  we  forget  our  care. 

We  hearken  in  the  twilight  dim, 

And  hear  you  sweetly  sing 
The  grand  and  glorious  old  hymn 

Our  fathers  loved  to  sing. 

Among  immortal  melodies, 

The  ones  recorded  high, 
Are  the  old  hymns  our  fathers  sang — 

1'hose  songs  can  never  die. 

We  bless  the  noble,  generous  hand 
That  placed  ye,  bells,  on  high 

To  crown  her  monument  of  love — 
A  grand  doxology. 


94  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

And  better  still,  with  grateful  hearts, 
Throughout  this  peaceful  land, 

We  '11  praise  the  Author  of  all  good, 
Who  gives  with  bounteous  hand. 

Ring,  silvery  bells,  your  mellow  chime, 
And  while  your  sweet  tones  fall, 

We  '11  join  in  that  triumphant  song, 
"And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all." 

April  26, 1887. 


i 


THE  TRANSFIGURED  CROSS. 

"  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  will  draw  all  men  unto  Me." 
SIT  beside  my  window,  where  the  rays 


Of  setting  sun  are  fading  from  my  view. 
My  eyes  turn  east,  where,  on  cathedral  roof 
A  gilded  cross  stands  glimmering  thro'  the  dusk, 
Towering  above  the  noisy  world,  seeming 
Almost  to  rest  upon  the  pale  blue  sky. 
Oh,  cross  of  pain  !     Oh,  cross  of  sacrifice  ! 
Oh,  cross  of  anguish,  where  our  Saviour  died ! 
You  seem  to^speak  to  us,  thro'  deepening  gloom, 
And  say,  "  No  cross  of  pain,  no  cross  of  sacrifice, 
No  crown  of  peace,  no  crown  immortal  " — See  ! 
The  sun  long  hidden  from  the  lower  peaks, 
Has  burst  asunder  cloudy  covering, 
And,  through  the  shadows  ever  deepening, 
The  cross  that  soon  had  faded  from  my  sight, 
Is  bathed  in  radiance  from  that  crimson  source, 


COME    UNTO  ME.  95 

And  stands  transfigured  as  a  star  of  gold  ! 
As  I  behold  it  glimmering  thus  afar, 
I  can  but  breathe  the  involuntary  prayer : 
"  Nearer,  nearer  to  Thee,  O  Lamb  of  God, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross  that  raiseth  me !" 
Oh,  cross  of  pain  and  peace  !  Oh,  star  of  hope  ! 
You  only  point  us  to  the  source  of  Light. 
Shine  on,  and  lift  our  burdened  souls 
Above,  where  dwells  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  : 
Then  shall  our  cross  of  grief  transfigured  be 
Before  the  sunlight  of  a  Saviour's  love  ; 
Then  shall  it  beckon  as  a  star  of  hope, 
Leading  us  on  to  immortality. 

March  28,  1887. 


COME  UNTO  ME. 

unto  Me,"  the  Saviour  doth  say, 
Over  and  over  again — 
"  My  saving  grace  can  wash  away 
Even  the  darkest  stain." 

"  Unto  the  weary  I  offer  rest 

Not  as  the  world  can  give  : 
Trust  in  my  mercy ;  lean  on  my  breast ; 

Only  look  up  and  live. 

My  love  lasts  for  you 
Eternity  through." 

(An  acrostic.) 


96  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

A  VISION. 

'nr^HE  day  had  been  a  weary  one,  and  at  its  close 

JL      I  sought  the  Book,  hoping  to  find  therein 
Refreshment :  but  alas  !  body  and  mind 
Were  weak.     Treasure  I  found,  but  not  for  me. 
I  sought  my  couch,  with  but  a  murmured  prayer 
For  strength  sufficient  for  the  coming  day. 

Do  spirits  from  the  other  world  return 

To  hover  near  us  in  those  silent  hours 

While  we  lie  all  unconscious  ?  It  may  be 

God  sends  His  angels  down  from  the  white  throne 

To  whisper  in  our  dreams  of  heavenly  things. 

Howe'er  it  be,  He  sent  me  while  I  slept 

A  precious  vision  of  the  Saviour's  face. 

I  thought  the  morrow  dawned  and  I  awoke 
Refreshed  in  body  and  of  lighter  heart. 
When  suddenly  there  rushed  into  my  room 
A  stranger  with  strange  tidings. 

"Haste!"  he  cried, 

"The  Master  comes  !  has  taught  in  every  house 
Along  the  way,  and  now  He  cometh  soon 
To  teach  the  people  from  thy  quiet  home." 

I  stood  as  if  spellbound. 

Oh  !  could  it  be 

That  in  this  room  the  King  would  speak  His  truths  ? 
It  seemed  not  strange  that  He  should  live  on  earth, 
Preaching  the  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom,  but 
That  He  should  choose  my  home  as  His  abode, 


A  VISION.  97 


And  here  teach  —  that  passed  my  comprehension. 
Long  had  I  hoped  that  if  he  came  again, 
I  with  the  multitude  might  hear  His  voice, 
Might,  for  one  blissful  moment,  catch  a  glimpse 
Of  His  majestic  countenance  :  when  lo, 
He  sends  a  messenger  in  haste  to  say 
He  cometh,  and  will  meet  me  in  my  home  ! 
The  news  spread  fast  among  the  people. 

While  I  stood 

Eager,  expectant,  swift  they  crowded  in. 
Some  smiled  upon  my  happiness,  but  one, 
With  scornful  look,  and  haughty  brow  exclaimed, 
"Why  should  you  think  that  He  will  notice  you! 
You  are  but  one  in  the  great  multitude." 
I  looked  abashed,  and  answered,  "Yes,  'tis  true, 
I  am  but  one  and  of  the  very  least. 

I  may  not  touch  His  hand  or  speak  with  Him 
Nor  press  so  close  about  Him  as  did  He 
Who  was  beloved,  and  whispered,  *  Is  it  I  ?' 
Yet  from  His  face  if  I  but  catch  a  glance 
Of  loving  recognition,  verily, 
I  shall  be  satisfied."     While  I  yet  spake 
The  surging,  all  expectant  crowd  gave  way, 
A  hush  fell  on  us,  for  we  knew  that  He 
The  King  of  Heaven  drew  near. 

I  held  my  breath, 

Nor  moved  me  from  the  doorway  where  I  stood. 
Here  my  pen  fails  me.     How  can  I  describe 
The  beatific  vision  which  appeard ! 


98  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

My  fancy  oft  had  pictured  that  dear  face. 
But  no  conception  ever  pictured  this, 
Nor  ever  could.     Had  I  an  artist's  gift, 
I  could  outline  the  features  years  of  time 
Have  rendered  no  less  vivid  ;  yet  to  portray 
The  Spirit  which  my  spirit  saw  —  ah,  no! 
For  in  that  face  was  the  ideal  Christ, 
The  God,  the  Man,  the  Comforter  in  one. 
A  flowing  robe  enwrapt  His  sacred  form, 
Which  softly  fell  in  folds. 

His  face  was  pale  : 

I  knew  that  He  had  suffered  as  none  else, 
For  pain  had  left  its  trace  on  cheek  and  brow. 
It  was  the  risen  Lord  I  saw  that  hour, 
For  in  the  human  face  shone  the  divine. 
With  every  trace  of  anguish  and  of  pain 
Appeared  soft  intermingled  lines  of  peace. 
Gentle  it  was,  yet  without  weakness:  sweet 
And  tender  as  a  mother's,  yet  withal, 
So  strong,  so  full  of  heavenly  majesty. 
It  may  be  when  my  disembodied  soul 
Beholds  my  blest  Redeemer  face  to  face, 
This  vision  sweet  will  fade,  will  seem  eclipsed 
By  the  full  splendor  of  reality; 
Or  I  may  quite  forget  —  but  not  till  then. 

He  seemed  in  search  of  some  one.     Breathlessly 
I  watched  Him  till  at  last  His  eyes  met  mine. 
Then  I  knew  by  His  kind  glance  of  welcome 
It  was  I  for  whom  He  sought.     I  wonder 
I  did  not  waken  from  excess  of  joy, 


FROM  THE  ISLE  OF  MANISEES.  99 

As  tremblingly  I  knelt,  with  upturned  face, 

And  waited  silently  as  He  drew  near. 

He  did  not  speak  to  me,  or  I  to  Him  ; 

More  sacred  far  that  silent  speech  in  which 

My  soul  communed  with  Him  and  found  its  rest. 

I  needed  not  to  tell  Him  all  my  care, 

My  grief  and  loneliness ;  it  was  enough 

That  He  was  near,  and  read  my  inmost  soul. 

I  did  not  even  then  wake  suddenly, 

Or  realize  just  when  the  vision  ceased. 

For  a  long  while  I  lay  in  wonderment, 

Until  it  fully  dawned  upon  my  mind 

That  I  had  been  with  Jesus,  and  had  seen  His  face. 

Although  the  vision  passed,  the  joy  remained  : 

A  boundless  sea,  in  which  my  soul  was  lost. 

All  strange  perplexing  questions  solved  themselves, 

All  mysteries  were  cleared,  while  in  my  heart 

His  kingdom  came  to  dwell  forevermore. 

July  25,  1891. 

FROM    THE   ISLE   OF    MANISEES. 

AHOY  !     Ahoy,  there,  over  the  seas  ! 
Put  up  your  ear  trumpet,  if  you  please; 
Or,  better  still,  if  you  're  quite  alone, 
Perhaps  you  may  hear  with  an  audiphone. 
Now  wait  a  bit,  while  the  foghorns  blow — 
'Tis  dangerous  off  on  the  rocks,  you  know, 
And  a  heavy  mist  is  settling  down 
Upon  this  quaint  little  fishing  town, 
That  lies  in  mid-ocean,  a  tiny  speck. 


TOO  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

Now  !  Ahoy,  there,  over  on  Linekin  Neck ! 
Good  morning,  my  friend,  just  over  the  way. 
Can  you  hear  through  the  mist  ?  Can  you  hear  me, 

I  say  ? 

A  message  will  come  on  the  next  fair  breeze  : 
'T  is  a  voice  from  the  island  of  Manisees. 
Methinks  we  heard,  like  yon  sailor's  cry, 
A  voice  that  faintly  responded,  "  Aye  !  Aye  !  " 


HIS    MERCY    ENDURETH    FOREVER. 

Psalm  1 1 8. 

LORD,  we  are  thine  eternally; 
The  strong,  the  weak,  the  erring  all; 
We  cannot  lose  ourselves  from  Thee, 
Or  stray  beyond  Thy  ceaseless  call. 

Thy  love,  its  measure  who  can  tell  ? 

Or  bound  the  limits  of  Thy  grace  ? 
'Tis  deeper  than  the  deepest  hell, 

And  broader  than  the  realms  of  space. 

Back  to  Thine  arms  we  must  return, 
To  find  Thy  tender  mercies  sure ; 

Thy  love  the  fire  that  needs  must  burn 
Away  the  dross  to  make  us  pure. 

Lord,  we  are  Thine.    Then  Thou  must  dwell 

Within  us,  wheresoe'er  we  roam; 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  one  soul  in  hell 

Who  turns,  again  repentant,  home. 

1894. 


THE  LOVE   OF  GOD.  IOI 


THE   LOVE   OF   GOD. 

FROM  the  farmer's  great  storehouse  a  weather- 
vane  swings 

With  every  swift  change  that  the  season  brings. 
Designed  by  himself  (so  the  story  is  told) 
As  an  outstretched  finger  of  shining  gold, 
An  inscription  it  bears,  clearly  written  above: 
"Look  up  and  remember  that  God  is  Love" 

A  curious  neighbor  across  the  way 
Came  sauntering  over  one  breezy  day. 
He  gazed  at  the  sentence  with  wondering  eyes  ; 
Then  turned  to  the  farmer,  and  said  with  surprise, 
"  That 's  a  mighty  fine  vane,  but  I  'm  wondering 
Why    you  fasten    God's    love    to    this    changeable 
thing." 

"That's  easily  answered,"  the  old  man  replied, 
As  he  seated  himself  in  the  doorway  wide. 
"There  is  no  earthly  thing  with  His  love  can  com- 
pare : 

It  is  steadfast,  eternal,  and  everywhere. 
So,  wherever  the  contrary  winds  may  rove — 
North,  east,  south,  west,  still  God  is  Love." 

Dear  friends,  though  despondent,  take  courage  anew. 
Like  an  anchor  of  hope  for  the  brave  and  the  true; 
Like  a  sunbeam  to  brighten  the  loneliest  ways, 
It  sings  through  the  years  as  an  anthem  of  praise, 
And  is  echoed  afar  by  the  angels  above  : 
"  Look  up  and  remember  that  God  is  love." 


102  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

The  north  wind  is  bitter,  and  east  wind  is  wild; 
The  south  wind  is  soft,  yet  fond  hope  has  beguiled  ; 
The  west  wind  is  fair,  but  as  faithless  to  you ; 
The  Breath  of  the  Father  is  constant  and  true. 
So  we  never  need  mind  how  the  winds  may  rove, 
North,  east,  south,  west,  since  God  is  Love. 


"DON'T    CHEER,   BOYS!" 

FIERCE  the  fight  was  raging 
On  a  Southern  sea ; 
Signals  waving  from  our  ships 

Told  of  victory. 
On  the  Texas'  smoking  deck, 

From  her  gallant  tars, 
Burst  a  loud,  trimphant  cheer 

For  the  stripes  and  stars. 
But  the  captain,  standing  there, 

Bowed  a  reverent  head — 
"  Don't  cheer,  boys  !  they  're  dying  now 
Better  weep  instead." 

"Who  are  we  that  we  should  boast, 

Though  our  foe  should  fall  ? 
In  this  human  family 

We  are  brothers  all. 
God  is  their  Avenger : 

Better  far  to  pray 
Than  to  cheer,  when  souls  are  sent 

To  their  Judgment  Day." 


777/4    TEXTH  OF  MAY.  103 

Speedily  the  word  passed  on, 

Made  immortal  now  ; 
We  can  hear  it  echo  still 

From  her  gallant  prow. 

"  Don't  cheer,  boys  !     Remember 

They  were  brave  as  you. 
They  fought  for  their  country. 

What  more  could  you  do? 
Soon  they  will  be  lying 

With  the  silent  dead. 
Don't  cheer,  boys  !     They  're  dying: 

Drop  a  tear  instead.'1 


THE  TENTH   OF   MAY. 

THE  tenth  of  May  (so  our  grandmothers  say) 
Is  the  time  for  tucking  the  seeds  away.' 
Mother  Nature  is  kind,  and  a  watch  she  will  keep 
O'er  her  nestlings  while  they  lie  asleep, 
Till  some  bright  morning,  the  summer  sun 
Will  wake  them  to  duty,  and  kiss  them  to  beauty 
As  they  rise  from  their  hiding  place,  one  by  one. 
Then  in  flower-mission   time,   when  the  blossoms 

will  go 

On  a  mission  of  cheer  to  the  haunts  of  woe, 
How  thankful  we  '11  be  that  we  planted  them  so  ! 
Now  friends,  tell  your  neighbor,  just  over  the  way, 
That  you  happened  to  think  't  is  the  tenth  of  May  : 
Then  drop  a  few  seeds  in  her  thoughtful  mind, 


104  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

And  leave  them  to  ripen.     Our  Father  is  kind  : 

He  will  watch  o'er  them,  hid  'neath  the  heart's  ten- 
der sod 

Till  they  blossom  at  last  in  the  Garden  of  God. 

Vou  will  not  regret  them,  will  you,  my  friend, 

The  few  stray  pennies  you  had  to  spend  ? 

Would  these  ever  have  blossomed  ? 

(Ah  !  who  can  say) 

Had  you  failed  to  plant  them  the  tenth  of  May  ? 

Never  mind  if  you  reap  not  from  what    you   may 
scatter, 

Providing  you  just  do  your  part  in  the  matter; 

And  so,  come  and  buy,  after  lunch  if  you're  able. 

You  will  find  them  right  here  at  the  literature  table. 

Read  at  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  County  Convention,  Fall  River, 
May  10,  1899. 


PRAY  FOR   ME. 

PRAY  for  me,  oh,  my  friend  !  nor  reckon  it 
An  idle  wish  that  prompted  me  to  ask. 
We  do  not  fling  fair  pearls  before  the  swine, 
Nor  should  we  heedlessly  our  sacred  thoughts 
To  every  passer-by.     Too  oft  'tis  true 
We  err  in  that  we  hesitate  to  give 
To  others  from  our  store  of  heavenly  gifts, 
And  so,  the  tone  of  cheer,  the  calm  reproof, 
The  word  of  warning  or  entreaty,  all 
Remain  unsaid,  and  someone  goes  through  life 
Ahungering  for  the  help  we  might  have  given. 


PRAY  FOR   ME.  105 


Yet  even  this  lies  on  the  surface ;  deeper  far 

Lies  the  soul's  great,  spiritual  hunger, 

That  all-convincing  proof  that  God  exists, 

And  of  our  kinship  with  Divinity. 

'Tis  this  that  brings  us,  at  sometime  in  life, 

To  lay  aside  all  cold  formality, 

And,  reaching  out  to  some  soul  in  advance, 

Cry,  "Give  me  your  hand  and  help  me  heavenward." 

\Vhy  did  I  ask  you  ?     That  I  cannot  say, 

Unless  it  be  I  saw  help  in  your  face, 

And,  following  my  impulse,  asked  for  help. 

"Yet,  why,"  you  ask,  "do  you  not  pray  for  self?" 

I  do,  yet  in  united  prayer  is  strength, 

Like  all  united  effort  for  a  cause, 

"  More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer  than  this  world 

dreams." 

We  have  God's  word  that  it  availeth  much. 
'Tis  like  "the  quality  of  Mercy"  which 
Doth  bless  both  him  who  gives  and  who  receives. 
And  in  this,  I  admit  to  you  lay  half 
My  motive  :  that  you  might  in  turn  be  blest. 
So,  while  I  ask  you  to  remember  me 
Sometime  before  the  mercy  seat,  I  know 
That  through  that  act  will  come  to  me 
An  inspiration  and  encouragement ; 
While  to  yourself,  Heaven's  choicest  happiness — 
The  peace  which  angels  know  who  stand  before 
His  presence  and  reflect  His  character. 
What  shall  you  pray  for?     Health  ? 

That  would  be  sweet, 
Indeed,  but  far  too  selfish  while  we  see 


106  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

So  many  sick  whom  Christ  loves  none  the  less. 
Nay :  Ask  that  as  His  plans  unfold  to  me 
From  day  to  day,  I  may  not  be  surprised, 
Nor  shrink,  nor  murmur,  but  may  cheerfully 
Accept,  content  to  fill  my  sphere  nor  crave 
The  unattainable.     I  want  to  make 
The  most  of  life.     Pray  He  may  show  me  how. 

1891. 


o 


LEGEND   OF  A  LEAF. 

NCE  a  leaflet  in  the  forest 

Murmured,  as  they  do  in  springtime, 
When  the  gentle  winds  are  blowing; 
Sighed,  until  the  twig  above  it 
Saw  its  restlessness,  and  whispered, 
"Tell  me  why  you  murmur,  leaflet." 
Said  the  leaf,  "The  cruel  breezes 
Seek  to  tear  us  from  the  branches. 
Tell  me  I  shall  fall  and  perish." 
Then  the  gray  twig  told  its  story 
To  the  branch  that  swung  above  it, 
And  the  branch  quickly  repeated 
To  the  tree  the  plaintive  story. 
Then  the  old  tree  in  the  forest 
Sent  a  message  of  assurance. 
To  the  trembling  one  it  answered, 
"  Do  not  murmur,  little  leaflet, 
You  shall  stay  till  you  are  ready." 
Soon  it  hushed  its  sad  complaining, 
Went  on  singing,  rustling,  laughing, 


LEGEND   OF  A    LEAF.  107 

Grew  more  beautiful  all  summer  : 

Sang  its  song  until  October, 

Till  the  brilliant  days  of  autumn. 

Then  it  saw,  around,  above  it, 

All  the  trees  in  the  great  forest 

Undergo  a  transformation, 

Decked  with  tints  of  wondrous  beauty. 

Some  were  scarlet,  some  were  golden, 

Others  striped  with  different  colors. 

Then  the  leaf  asked  in  amazement, 

"  Tell  me,  mother-tree,  what  means  this  ?" 

And  the  old  tree  gently  whispered, 

"I  have  clothed  them  for  their  journey : 

Soon  they  fly  away  and  leave  me, 

Leave  me  cold  and  gray  and  barren." 

Eagerly  it  sought  the  branches  : 

"  Tell  me  why  are  you  not  going  ? 

Why  are  you  not  gay  and  golden  ?" 

And  they  said,  "  Their  task  is  over, 

But  our  work  is  not  completed. 

We  are  dressed  for  constant  service, 

You  for  holiday  excursion." 

Then  the  leaf  began  to  tremble 

As  it  saw  its  gay  companions, 

One  by  one,  go  fluttering  downward. 

Some  were  caught  up  by  the  breezes, 

Tossed  about  hither  and  thither, 

Dancing  merrily  together. 

As  it  watched  their  fitful  frolic, 

It  began  to  grow  more  anxious, 

Grew  more  beautiful  in  longing. 


108  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

But  it  waited  till  the  South  wind 
Passed  that  way  and  softly  kissed  it, 
Till  it  wooed  and  won  the  leaflet ; 
For  it  cried,  "My  work  is  over; 
I  am  ready  ;  take  me,  breezes  ! 
Bear  me  on  your  mighty  bosom !" 
Then  the  breeze  grew  strong  and  wafted 
All  the  leaves  from  all  the  treetops  : 
Tossed  them  carelessly  and  left  them, 
Left  the  tree  bereft  of  beauty, 
Left  the  branches  cold  and  naked. 
Soon  the  north  wind  from  the  mountain 
Breathed  her  frosty  breath  upon  them, 
And  they  huddled  close  together, 
Clung  despairing  to  each  other, 
Then  the  lone  leaf,  terror-stricken, 
Lost  her  hold,  and  without  thinking, 
Fell  among  her  dead  companions, 
Fell  asleep,  no  more  to  waken. 

October,  1891, 


AT    REST. 

AS  thirsty  traveller,  toiling  through  desert  lands, 
Searches  for  cooling  stream  beyond  the  burn- 
ing sands ; 

As  one  who,  overborne  by  sultry  heat, 
Seeks  from  the  cares  of  life  to  find  a  calm  retreat ; 
As   a  tired  child   at  evening  claims   its   mother's 

breast, 
She  sought  that  quiet  haven  of  untroubled  rest. 

Mother:  October  27,  1899. 


CROWNED. 


CROWNED. 

In  memory  of  grandmother,  aged  eighty-six. 

AS  softly  fades  the  perfect  day, 
As  slowly  sinks  the  setting  sun, 
So  passed  her  trustful  soul  away, 
The  struggle  o'er,  the  victory  won. 

She  lived  to  see  the  old,  old  year 
Decline,  the  new  year  faintly  dawn  ; 

Then  silently  the  end  drew  near — 
The  end  for  which  she  waited  long. 

Affection  lingers  o'er  the  past, 

And  precious  memories  fill  the  soul, 

As  Faith  sees  mother  crowned  at  last, 
Of  all  her  earnest  prayers  the  goal. 

Our  mother !  'twas  thy  watchful  eye 
Guided  our  erring  steps  in  youth  ; 

Thy  voice  which  ever  faithfully 

Taught  us  the  way  of  life  and  truth. 

Well  hath  thou  earned  thy  rich  reward ; 
"  Worthy  art  thou  to  enter  rest; 
Thy  children  all  of  one  accord 
Shall  call  thy  name  forever  blest. 

Why  should  we  mourn  thy  sweet  release  ? 

Why  should  our  hearts  by  grief  be  riven  ? 
When  thy  reward  is  perfect  peace, 

And  thine  inheritance  is  heaven  ? 

January  8,  1889. 


IIO  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

"LET    ME   GO." 

(Her  last  words.) 

HINDER  me  not,  for  silently 
The  tide  of  life  is  ebbing  low; 
Kind  hands  from  yonder  better  world 
Beckon  me  onward — let  me  go. 

Kindred  and  friends  await  me  there, 
And  wouldst  thou  keep  me  here  ? 

'T  is  fitting  that  my  life  should  pass 
With  the  retreating  year. 

I  long  to  reach  my  Father's  house, 
Where  chill  winds  never  blow ; 

Then  if  you  love  me,  weep  no  more, 
But  kindly  let  me  go  ! 

I  haste  to  quench  my  fevered  thirst 
Where  streams  immortal  flow  ; 

To  Him,  the  Source  of  endless  life — 
To  Jesus,  let  me  go ! 

God  grant  that  we  as  peacefully 
May  meet  the  hour  of  death; 

Not  smitten  as  a  tender  bud 
By  winter's  frosty  breath  ; 

But  may  our  lives  completed  be, 
As  Autumn's  golden  sheaf; 

Sinking  away  to  perfect  rest, 
As  falls  the  perfect  leaf. 


EASTER  HYMN.  Ill 


EASTER    HYMN. 

"He  is  not  here,  for  lie  is  risen." — Matthew  28:6. 

JESUS  is  risen.     Believe  ye  not  ? 
Come  see  the  place  where  He  has  lain  ; 
Fair  lilies  crown  the  sacred  spot, 

Where  once  were  pressed  the  thorns  of  pain. 

Within,  His  folded  garments  lie. 

He  did  not  hasten  from  the  tomb, 
But  calmly  rose  in  majesty, 

As  flowers  unfold  in  perfect  bloom. 

Jesus  is  risen,  and  so  shall  we. 

In  tears  we  lay  our  loved  away, 
Yet  life  and  immortality 

Were  brought  to  light  on  Easter  Day. 

Since  Christ  has  conquered  life  and  death, 
We  need  not  shun  the  path  of  pain, 

Nor  shrink  to  take  our  parting  breath 
If  death  be  our  eternal  gain. 

An  angel  speaks  beside  the  tomb, 

"  Go,  follow  in  his  shining  way  ; 
Mourner,  arise  from  grief  and  gloom, 

Go  forth  to  labor  and  to  pray." 

March  2,  1891. 


O 


112  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

ODE   TO    THE    CHURCH. 

Tune :  Lyons. 

CHURCH  of  our  choice  ! 
Thou  bride  of  our  King! 
We  join  with  one  voice 
Thy  praises  to  sing. 
The  years  that  have  passed  since  we  first    heard 

thy  calls, 
A  halo  have  cast  which  illumines  thy  walls. 

Inspired  by  this  scene, 

We  weave  a  bright  chain 
Of  memories  green, 

With  loves  that  remain. 

We  know  by  our  side  Christ  our  Leader  is  near, 
While  He  is  our  Guide,  we  have  nothing  to  fear. 

O  Church  of  our  Lord, 
We  bid  thee  all  hail ! 
The  promise  of  God 

To  thee  cannot  fail. 

He  daily  supplies  thee  with  heavenly  bread, 
He  ever  abides  as  our  glorious  Head. 

Arise  in  His  strength 

And  gird  thee  with  power, 
For  night  comes  at  length 

When  labor  is  o'er. 

But  not  till  all  nations  their  homage  shall  bring, 
To  Christ,  our  Redeemer,  our  Ruler  and  King. 

Sunday,  October  21,  1892. 


FOR  LOVE'S  SAKE,  113 

FOR  LOVE'S  SAKE. 

ANGELS  of  Paradise,  angels  of  light, 
Watch  o  'er  my  darling,  who  slipped  from  my 

sight 

Into  the  realm  where  the  glorified  be  : 
Angels  of  Paradise,  keep  her  for  me. 
Tell  her  she  left  us  a  wide,  vacant  place, 
Say  that  we  long  for  the  smile  of  her  face. 
Pray  do  not  speak  of  the  hot  tears  that  fall ; 
Tell  her  we  love  her  and  miss  her,  that's  all. 

Angels  of  Paradise,  dwelling  in  light, 

Watch  o  'er  my  dear  boy  who  's  sleeping  to-night : 

Hover  about  him  by  night  and  by  day, 

Tell  him  we  pray  for  him,  love  him  alway. 

Brighten  his  dreams  with  a  message  of  love 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  a  seraph  above. 

Sweeten  his  slumber,  though  mine  eyelids  wake ; 

Tenderly  watch  o'er  him,  just  for  love's  sake. 

Angels  of  Paradise,  weary  I  am, 
Shelter  me  just  as  you  shelter  my  lamb. 
Tell  the  kind  Father  who  knows  the  heartache, 
Just  how  I  need  you,  then  come  for  love's  sake. 
Lay  your  soft  hands  on  my  feverish  brow; 
Grant  me  the  sleep  I  am  waiting  for  now, 
Sleep  that  no  burden  nor  care  shall  molest — 
Angels  of  Paradise,  take  me  to  rest  ! 

Mabel's  birthday,  October  24,  1891. 


114  SONGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 


THE  TRUE  VINE. 

JOHN  15  :  1-5. 

OH,  Thou  Eternal  One !  Within  my  hand 
I  bold  a  precious  missive — all  for  me. 
It  fills  me  with  surprise  :     I  cannot  understand 
Why  Thou  shouldst  love  me  so — sweet  mystery! 
It  came  this  morning,  on  the  wings  of  light : 
Most  eagerly  I  send  Thee  back  reply, 
Asking  for  help  to  read  the  words  aright. 
I  fail  to  comprehend  them.     Rabboni ! 
Send  me  the  key,  that  therewith  I  may  find 
The  hidden  meaning  of  each  line  :  the  deep 
And  mighty  truth  which  my  weak  mind 
Bewildered,  fails  to  grasp. 

My  Lord,  I  weep 

For  very  joy.     I  weep,  alas  !  for  pain. 
As  one  upon  whose  cheek  is  pressed  the  kiss 
Of  childhood's  purity,  and  cries, 

"  I  do  not  merit  this  ! " 

Yet  Master,  since  this  is  my  very  own, 
And  I  am  Thine,  do  not  the  gift  remove, 
For  by  its  influence,  unto  Thine  image  grown, 
I  yet  may  stand  spotless,  clothed  in  Thy  love. 

Slowly  I  read  Thy  message  to  my  heart, 
"  I  am  the  True  Vine''1     Can  it  be  that  they 
Whom  I  have  learned  to  love  and  trust  on  earth, 
Are  false,  deceptive,  and  Thou  alone  true  ?     Nay  ! 


THE    TRUE    VINE.  115 

I  know  that  there  are  loves  of  sterling  worth, 
True,  yet  only  true,  Lord,  because  Thou  art, 
The  truest  of  the  true,  the  only  Vine 
Bearing  untarnished  fruitage. 

All  that  is  pure 
And  genuine  springs  from  that  source  divine. 

"  God  is  the  husbandman? 

Thy  earthly  life 

Bore  precious  fruit  for  my  eternal  gain. 
But  can  it  be  that  Thou  didst  feel  the  knife, 
That  pruning  knife,  that  Thou    mightest  know  our 

pain  ? 

And  by  experience  canst  Thou  understand 
Just  how  it  hurts  to  have  the  tendrils  torn 
That  cling  so  closely  ?     Ah  !  Thy  pierce'd  hand 
Hath  felt  the  blow,  Thy  brow  the  cruel  thorn. 

"  Now  ye  are  clean  through  my  Word"    Verily, 
Thy  word  hath  been  to  me  a  living  power, 
E  'en  since  Thou  first  didst  speak  pardon  to  me  : 
"Daughter,  thy  faith  hath  saved  thee." 

In  that  hour, 

Like  love's  fond  kiss  came  the  first  rush 
Of  new  life  through  my  veins. 

In  after  days, 

Thy  blessed  words  of  comfort,  given  to  hush 
My  foolish  fears,  have  served  to  cleanse  my  ways. 
Thy  words  of  warning,  and  of  mild  reproof, 
Loving  reproof  upon  my  waywardness  : 


Il6  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Then  Love's  entreaty,  when,  holding  aloof, 
I  sought  less  than  Thine  own  Almightiness. 
Thy  words  have  given  me  joy,  but  pain  as  well. 
When  but  a  child  (at  heart,  if  not  in  years) 
I  came,  with  a  child's  confidence,  to  tell 
Thee  my  desire.     With  a  heart  full  of  tears 
I  plead,  and  once  again,  to  give  it  me. 
It  cost  Thee  little  :  Thou  wert  rich,  I  poor, 
But  Thou  didst  tell  me  "No." 

How  bitterly 

I  turned  away  !  how  wretched,  oh,  how  sore  ! 
I  knew  that  Thou  wert  good,  gentle,  and  kind  ; 
And  though  the  pain  tugged  at  my  heart,  I  knew 
That  sometime,  in  a  calm  hour,  I  would  find 
What  I  had  "deemed  reproof  was  love  most  true." 
Unanswered  prayers  are  they  ?     Nay,  't  is  not  so. 
God  answers  all  in  His  best  way,  and  just 
As  we  would  have  Him,  could  we  always  know, 
Seeing  as  He  sees.     So,  as  I  firmly  trust 
The  surgeon's  knife,  that  cuts  only  to  heal, 
I  learn,  unquestioning,  Thy  will  to  do  : 
Trust  Thee  to  send  what  seemeth  best,  come  weal 
Or  woe,  'tis  well,  since  Thou  art  wholly  true. 

"  Abide  in  Me  and  I  in  you"     Explain 
This  mystic  union  of  my  soul  with  Thine. 
I  know  it  must  be  mutual  love — again, 
That  human  love  is  type  of  the  Divine. 
I  have  an  earthly  friend,  beloved  indeed, 
Whose  actual  presence  ever  brings  delight. 
So  steadfast  is  that  bond,  I  do  not  need 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  RAMON  A.  117 

The  loving  hand  clasp,  or  the  pleasant  sight 
Of  that  dear  face,  to  keep  my  friend.     We  find 
Though  circumstances  part  us,  we  have  met 
By  that  mysterious  influence,  which  mind 
Has  upon  mind,  for  love  cannot  forget. 

True  friendship  is  a  spiritual  thing. 
It  lies  not  merely  in  the  form  we  see. 
Upon  our  lives  strong  influences  bring 
Themselves  to  bear,  till  quite  unconsciously 
We  change,  each  to  the  other  more  akin. 
By  this  same  law,  O  Thou  Eternal  One, 
Transform  my  character  !     So  win 
My  heart,  that  I  become  Thine — Thine  alone. 

February  7,  1892. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  RAMONA. 

Senorita,  my  own  !  thou  art  trembling  with  fear  ! 
The  path  it  is  safe,  and  the  end  is  so  near. 
Alessandro  is  sure,  and  his  feet  never  fail; 
He  knows  every  step  of  the  Indian  trail. 

Take  courage,  dear  heart !  ere  the  sun  sinks  we  rest 
In  the  depths  of  the  canon,  like  doves  in  their  nest. 
As  safe  from  all  danger  as  saints  with  their  God, 
For  we  follow  a  path  that  no  white  man  hath  trod. 

Alabama  !  't  is  over  !  and  ended  our  flight : 
We  shall  rest  from  all  fear  of  the  white  man  to-night. 
I  shall  build  thee  a  bower  for  a  couch  and  a  throne  ; 
Thou  shalt  sleep  while  I  watch,  Senorita,  my  own  ! 


Il8  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Nay,  nay !  I'm  not  weary,  thy  love  makes  me  bold, 
I  will  watch  by  the  campfire ;  the  shadows  are  cold 
As  they  fall  from  the  heights  —  Senorita  is  ill; 
By  the  warmth  of  the  fire  she  will  suffer  no  chill. 

She  sleeps,  my  beloved  !  like  a  dove  in  her  nest, 
No  fear  of  the  morrow  disturbs  her  fair  breast. 
She  belongs  to  the  saints,  else  my  soul,  tell  me  why 
Has  she  Indian  tresses,  yet  eyes  of  the  sky? 

She  knows  not  the  reason  (for  why  should  she  weep), 
Alessandro  must  watch  while  Majella  may  sleep  : 
She  knows  not  the  danger  that  lurks  in  the  glen, 
When  at  midnight  the  lion  prowls  forth  from  his  den. 

My  rifle  is  sure,  and  the  fire  burneth  bright ; 
No  wild  beast  shall  harm  thee,  Majella,  to-night. 
Sleep,  blessed  one,  sleep  from  thy  perilous  ride  ! 
Saint  Francis  protect  thee,  my  beautiful  bride  ! 

As  I  think  on  thy  future  my  heart  sinks  with  dread  ; 
My  people  are  scattered,  my  father  is  dead, 
Our  homes  are  usurped  by  the  pitiless  foe; 
They  will  rob  us,  my  fair  one,  wherever  we  go. 

The  saints  must  be  angry  —  the  saints  in  the  sky  — 
Else  why  do  they  suffer  my  people  to  die  ? 
Yet  they  love  thee,  Majella,  they  smile  as  you  pray. 
Perhaps  they  will  watch  o'er  our  desolate  way. 

How  can  they  but  love  thee,  the  saints  in  the  skies  — 
For  they  placed  heavenly  radiance  within  thy  blue 
eyes. 


INGATHERING  DAY.  Up 

They  have  watched  thee  all  night  —  See  !  the  day- 
dawn  is  near  ! 
She  smiles  —  Love,  awake!  Alessandro  is  here! 

O  listen,  Majella  !  we  are  not  alone  ; 

The  wood-doves  are  calling,  each  one  to  his  own, 

Cooing,  "Love?"  "Here,"  "Love  ?""  Here,"  and 

their  world  is  for  two; 

They  have  only  each  other,  and  I,  Love,  have  you. 

1893. 


INGATHERING  DAY. 

FROM  the  lake  and  its  circling  mountains, 
From  valley,  from  woodland  and  shore, 
The  footsteps  of  pastor  and  people 
Are  gathering  homeward  once  more. 

We  welcome  you  back  to  your  firesides, 
For  the  long  absent  faces  are  dear; 

They  have  darkened  a  shade  since  you  left  us, 
But  they  shine  with  true  warmth  and  good  cheer. 

We  welcome  you  back  to  your  labors, 
To  the  fields  that  hold  promise  of  grain  ; 

We  welcome  you  back  to  the  hearthstone 
Of  the  church  —  the  dear  school  room  again. 

We  welcome  our  kind  superintendent, 
Who  so  nobly  our  cause  will  defend  : 

We  welcome  you,  teachers  and  scholars, 
We  welcome  you,  stranger  and  friend. 


120  SO^VGS  IN  THE   NIGHT. 

Have  you  gathered  a  fresh  inspiration  ? 

Have  you  learned  a  new  song  by  the  way? 
There  are  some  who  have  borne,  uncomplaining, 

The  burden  and  heat  of  the  day. 

While  you  have  been  resting,  they  labored : 
Go  find  them,  and  gather  them  here ; 

Share  with  them  your  smiles  and  your  sunshine, 
And  sing  them  your  songs  of  good  cheer. 

Have  you  found  precious  seeds  for  the  sowing  ? 

Go  scatter  them  broadcast,  to-day, 
The  fruit  will  be  growing  up  yonder, 

On  that  mighty  Ingathering  Day. 

September,  1895. 


SOMETIME    TO-MORROW. 

SO  near  to  me  are  my  unseen  beloved, 
That  since  the  moment  when  that  mortal  hush 
Fell  on  my  spirit,  seems  there  strangely  near 
A  loving  presence  which  I  recognize. 
Whilej  floating  on  the  wings  of  silence,  comes 
Love's  tender  message  that  I  cannot  say 
Since  yesterday. 

We  need  no  other  proof  of  immortality, 
For  closer  than  this  fluctuating  breath 
Are  the  unceasing  pulses  of  eternity. 
So  real  is  that  life,  since  it  is  theirs! 


LTEKNAL   HOPE.  121 

And  how  mysterious  seems  all  they  left ! 
How  weak,  how  perishing  seems  mortal  clay 
Since  yesterday  ! 

How  near  to  me  seems  all  humanity! 
The  touch  of  death  hath  made  the  world  akin. 
He  lays  his  icy  finger  on  some  home 
Before  unvisited  by  such  a  guest, 
And  scores  of  aching  hearts  bleed  forth  afresh, 
Crying,  "  God  comfort  you  who  bow  in  sorrow, 
To-day — to-morrow." 

So  near  to  all  throbs  the  great  Heart  of  Love, 
That  folds  us  in  an  infinite  embrace, 
Eternal,  sure.     And  our  beloved  are  there — 
Nay,  here  !     Love  ever  is,  for  God  is  Love. 
So,  looking  up  through  tears,  we  dare  to  say, 

Since  yesterday, 
"  Lord,  Thou  wilt  give  Love's  own  to  all  who  sorrow 

Sometime  to-morrow." 

February  4,  1894. 


ETERNAL    HOPE. 

WHY   art   thou  groping,  soul   of   mine,  amid 
the  shadows  chill, 
While   on   the  sunlit  peaks   the   healthful   breezes 

play, 

And  happy  fancies  float  like  birds  along  the  way  ? 
Soul,    thou    canst    mount    a    little   farther    up    the 
height  to-day, 

If  thou  shouldst  will, 


122  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Why  art  thou  sad  and  lonely,  heart  of  mine  ?     Why 

lose 
Thy  faith    because   the    path   was   rough  ?      Thou 

couldst  not  see 

The  ministering  angels  near  at  hand  to  succor  thee, 
Yet  thou  canst  trust  God's  love  continually 
If  thou  but  choose. 

Oh,  soul  of  mine,  thou  wert  discouraged.     Why? 
Because  of  failure  past  and  tasks  undone? 
But  see  thou  fail  nor  falter  not.     At  set  of  sun 
Eternal  Hope  shall  sing  to  thee  of  victory  won 
If  thou  wilt  try. 

Oh,  restless,  doubting  heart  of  mine,  believe 
That  God  and  heaven  are  even  now  thine  own. 
Eternal  life  is  here,  such  as  to  angels  known  : 
For  thee  immortal  joys  flow  from  the  Great  White 
Throne* — 

Only  receive. 

July  15,  1898. 


TO    OUR    FATHER. 

On  his  sixty-sixth  birthday. 

WE  have  no  gifts  of  silver  or  of  gold  to  bring 
you; 

No  precious  gem  from  foreign  sea  and  shore ; 
Instead,  a  song  of  gratitude  we  sing  you, 

And,  with  this,  something  you  will  value  more. 


OUR  MESSAGE.  123 

Like  gentle  snowflakes  falls  each  tiny  token, 
Penned  by  the  aged  and  the  youthful  hand  : 

Each  bears  a  message  which  the  heart  hath  spoken 
And  which,  in  turn,  your  own  will  understand. 

Better  than  wealth  is  the  heart's  true  affection, 
Sweeter  than  fame,  for  which  men  vainly  strive, 

And  so  we  ask  you  to  receive  this  recognition 
On  April  twelfth,  in  the  year  ninety-five. 

Tis  well  that  friend  and  kindred  now  should  greet 

you, 
And  children  sing  your  praise  and  weave  their 

rhyme  : 
We  hope  for  many,  many  years  to  meet  you, 

And    count   your   "footprints   on    the   sands   of 
time." 


OUR    MESSAGE. 

I  WALKED  one  day,  in  the  sunset's  glory, 
To  see  if  a  message  for  you  I  could  find; 
But  each  fleecy  cloud  told  me  just  the  same  story, 
That  God  is  Love,  and  Love  is  kind. 

I  wandered  down  through  the  cool,  green  meadow ; 
The  flowers  looked  up  'neath   their  bonnets  of 

blue, 
And  whispered,    "  Go   tell   them   in    sunshine   and 

shadow 
God  is  Love,  and  Love  is  true." 


124  SONGS  IN   THE   NIGHT. 

I  rambled  on  to  the  great,  gray  ocean, 

That  bears  on  its  bosom  white,  fluttering  sails. 

"Tell  me,"  I  cried,  "of  strength  and  devotion!" 
But  I  heard,  "  God  is  Love,  and  Love  never  fails." 

At  night  I  read  in  the  starry  heaven 

The  same  sweet  lesson  I  learned  by  day, — 
"God  is  Love,  and  to  you  He  hath  given 
A  treasure  that  fadeth  not  away." 

To  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union, 

September,  1898. 


PASSING   BY. 

Suggested  by  the  words  of  Bishop  Foster,  at  the  Holy  Com- 
munion, Cottage  City,  August  26,  1895. 

AWAKE,  my  soul,  the  early  dawn  is  breaking ! 
Kneel  to  receive  thy  blessing,  and  to  pray. 
Thou  knowest  not  the  burden  that  awaits  thee, — 
Soul,  canst  thou  bear  it  bravely  through  the  day? 
There  is  one  standing  even  at  the  threshold  ; 
He  longs  to  share  it  with  thee  all  the  way. 
Jesus  is  passing  by      Speak  to  Him  ! 

It  is  high  noon ;  the  sands  of  life  are  burning. 
Soul,  thou  art  thirsting,  and  thy  feet  are  sore 
From  weary  travel  o'er  a  rugged  pathway. 
Come  thou  apart;  thou  needst  not  suffer  more. 
A  friend  draws  near,  bearing  a  brimming  chalice  : 
'Tis  Life  Eternal!     Drink  forevermore. 
Jesus  is  passing  by.     Speak  to  Him  ! 


AND    THEN, 


Life's  fiercest  storm  sweeps  o'er  thy  little  day. 
Thou  hast  no  power  to  face  the  billows  wild. 
Hearken,  my  soul !     Amid  the  surges'  roar 
A  Voice  is  calling,  "  Fear  thou  not,  my  child  ! " 
'Tis  He  who  crossed  the  waves  of  Galilee; 
Who  walked  life's  sea,  all  calm  and  undefiled. 
'Tis  Jesus  passing  by.     Speak  to  Him  ! 

'Twas  light  at  eventide.     The  last  pale  rays 
Have  faded  now  from  western  sea  and  sky. 
The  storm  is  hushed,  and  the  dark  waves  are  still. 
Lift  up  thine  eyes !     The  Saviour  cometh  nigh 
To  cheer  the  midnight  gloom. 

See,  in  His  face 

Shineth  the  dawn  of  thine  eternity! 
Jesus  is  passing  by.     Speak  to  Him  ! 


AND    THEN. 

ANGELIC  choristers,  from  realms  afar, 
Sang  for  him  as  he  waited  on  the  shore  ; 
And  then  the  twilight  hour,  the  "evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  "  from  her  who  passed  before. 
A  last  farewell,  a  fluttering  breath, 

And  then — and  then,  a  silence  long  and  deep. 
We  looked  upon  his  face,  and  said,  "  Not  death ! 
An  Angel  touched  him  and  he  fell  asleep." 

Father  :  February  18,  1900. 

"And  all,  looking  steadfastly  on  him,  saw  his  face  as  it  had 
been  the  face  of  an  angel."— ACTS  6:15. 


ON   THE    HEIGHTS 


DEDICATED 

TO  THE  TWO   MARYS,   WHO   HAVE   BEEN    AN 

INSPIRATION: 
REV.   MARY   L.   LEGGETT 

AND 
COUSIN    MARY,    MY   LIFELONG   FRIEND 

AND 
COMPANION. 


ON    THE    HEIGHTS. 

I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  awake  in  His  likeness. 

I  beheld,  in  my  dream,  a  steep  and  rugged  path 
winding  up  the  mountain-side.  Above  were  snow 
white  peaks,  clothed  in  eternal  purity.  Below  lay 
the  people  valley,  and  its  inhabitants  were  sleeping, 
save  those  who  were  wending  their  way  toward 
"  the  heights  where  dwells  no  sin."  These  were 
many,  and  were  clad  in  garments  of  every  hue ; 
but  I  noticed  one  peculiarity  in  common  :  they  all 
carried  burdens,  some  of  which  were  grievous  to  be 
borne. 

Few,  if  any.  stepped  in  another's  footprints ; 
each  one  took  his  own  way,  yet  the  goal  was  the 
same.  Some  there  were  who  climbed  with  falter- 
ing steps  ;  others  so  spasmodically  as  to  make  but 
little  progress ;  but  there  were  those  who  walked 
as  on  an  open  plain,  in  an  atmosphere  of  sunshine 
and  song.  I  divined  the  reason  to  be  this :  their 
faces  were  uplifted,  and  fixed  steadfastly  before 
them,  save  when  they  turned  to  raise  the  burden 
from  some  fainting  one,  or  clasp  the  hand  of  a 
worn  traveller,  bidding  him  take  heart  again. 
More  than  one  was  seen  to  turn  backward  for  a 
little  way,  that  he  might  accompany  the  lagging 
steps  of  his  companion.  At  such  times,  however, 
I  observed  that  the  countenance  of  such  an  one 
would  lighten  with  a  heavenly  joy.  He  seemed  to 
tread  the  earth  no  longer,  but  did  mount  up  as  on 
eagle's  wings. 


130  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Now  it  chanced  that  I  was  far  below,  yet  saw 
these  things,  and  said  to  my  companion,  "Would 
that  we,  too,  might  soar  to  yonder  heights  on  the 
wings  of  the  morning !  "  And  a  gentle  voice  re- 
plied, "  Thou  first  must  learn  to  walk  and  not  faint." 
I  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  and  beheld 
a  friend,  dearly  beloved.  She  was  speaking  to  an 
eager  group  that  had  gathered  instinctively  about 
her.  The  atmosphere  being  exceedingly  rare,  her 
voice  was  distinctly  heard  by  us.  As  we  listened, 
we  became  quite  unmindful  of  the  distance  between 
us,  or  the  painful  ascent.  One  sentence  inspired 
me  with  a  new  hope :  "  Ye  shall  know  the  truth, 
and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free."  Thought 
travels  rapidly  in  this  upper  realm  ;  one's  desires 
are  often  communicated  without  the  spoken  word. 
So  it  came  to  pass,  as  I  meditated  on  these  things, 
behold,  she  turned  and  looked  upon  me !  She 
read  my  heart  like  an  open  book,  and  coming  to- 
ward me,  said  in  tones  of  inerrable  sweetness — 
"  Be  not  comfortless  :  I  will  come  to  you."  These 
were  so  like  unto  the  words  of  Him  whom  we  were 
journeying  to  see,  that  as  she  took  my  hand,  I 
asked  if  she  were  the  Christ  incarnate.  At  this, 
she  smiled  and  said,  "  Such  would  be  my  desire. 
I  am  your  fellow  traveller,  and  only  one  of  those 
who  have  come  up  out  of  great  tribulation,  and 
learned  to  speak  His  message  in  the  language  of 
the  kingdom."  As  she  spake  thus,  her  raiment 
became  snowy  white,  and  her  face  transfigured. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  found  I  had  advanced 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  131 

a  step  higher,  so  took  courage  as  she  passed  on 
before  me  into  the  unseen.  Now  it  came  to  pass 
that  at  this  period  in  her  existence,  a  strange 
power  was  granted  unto  her,  and  it  was  after  this 
wise  :  I  had  gone  in  the  strength  of  our  communion 
for  a  season,  when  the  longing  to  see  her  became 
so  intense  that  I  could  refrain  no  longer,  but  cried 
imploringly,  "  Oh,  my  glorified  one  !  forsake  me 
not ! "  Then  were  mine  eyes  opened  and  I  saw 
that  she  was  with  me  still,  and  had  never  left  me ; 
and  I  heard  her  say,  "  Fear  not,  little  one ;  I  am 
at  all  times  in  touch  with  thee."  Then  it  was  that 
she  explained  how  the  Christ-spirit  abides  with  all 
and  in  all,  that  "though  we  see  Him  not,  yet  be- 
lieving, we  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable." 

My  soul  rejoiced  greatly  at  the  thought  that  we 
were  all  one  with  Christ,  held  in  unity  by  the  bonds 
of  peace,  eternal  peace. 

Now  I  dreamed  that  I,  with  my  fellow  travellers, 
came  toward  the  end  of  our  earthly  journey.  We 
were  weary  and  footsore,  yet  feared  no  ill,  and  be- 
cause of  the  glory  set  before  us,  we  endured  as 
seeing  Him  who  is  invisible. 

I  thought  there  came  a  cold,  dark  night,  yet 
overhead  the  stars  were  shining  so  brightly  that  we 
were  illumined  by  their  radiance.  Turning  to  my 
abiding  friend,  I  asked,  "Who  are  these?"  and 
she  answered,  "  These  are  they  who  have  over- 
come the  world.  They  shall  shine  as  the  stars  in 
the  firmament,  and  their  light  shall  go  out  no  more 
forever."  Now  at  this,  our  hearts  became  exceed- 


132  SONGS  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

ing  glad,  so  that  we  joined  in  the  songs  of  Zion, 
and  we  were  filled  with  immortal  hope.  And  it 
came  to  pass  that  while  we  sang  together,  the  mists 
began  to  lift  and  roll  away  before  the  everlasting 
hills  of  God  :  then  there  appeared  and  spread  in 
the  Eastern  horizon,  "  the  first  faint  streaks  of  the 
morning  " — and  there  was  no  night  there.  And 
behold,  a  great  multitude  which  no  man  could 
number,  of  every  kindred  and  tongue,  had  come  up 
unto  the  holy  Mount,  and  I  beheld  in  their  faces  a 
glory  which  none  may  describe.  Then  turning  to 
those  whom  we  had  "loved  long  since,  and  lost 
awhile,"  we  asked,  "  What  is  this  exceeding  glory 
and  where  is  its  source  ? "  And  an  angel,  more 
beautiful  to  me  than  all  the  rest,  came  nestling  to 
my  side,  and  laying  her  soft  hand  on  my  cheek, 
whispered,  "  Mother !  It  is  the  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness. See  !  He  rises  with  healing  in  His  wings  !  " 

Then  I  awoke. 

1899. 


INDEX. 


A  Lower  Light, 

A  Lock  of  Hair, 

Arbutus, 

Anniversary  Hymn, 

A  Mother's  Song, 

A  Little  While, 

Alice, 

Annie  Hart, 

A  Twilight  Dream, 

A  Sigh  and  a  Song, 

An  April  Lesson, 

After  Awhile, 

A  Midnight  Prayer, 

A  Vision, 

At  Rest, 

And  Then, 

Blue  Eyes, 
By  the  Sea, 

Christmas  Bells, 

Consecration, 

Chime  Bells, 

Crowned, 

Children's  Day  in  Heaven,  31 

Come  Unto  Me, 

"Don't  Cheer,  Boys,' 

Easter  Hymn, 
Eternal  Hope, 

Faith,  Hope,  Love, 
Flower  Mission, 
For  Love's  Sake, 

Gems  of  the  Bible, 

Heaven, 

He  Careth  for  You, 

Harvest  Hymn, 

Humility, 


9 

Holy  Day, 
His  Mercy  Endureth  For- 

56 

4 

ever, 

100 

34 

Hymn, 

3° 

S 

Ingathering, 

119 

92 

In  Memoriam, 

38 

63 

Lakeville, 

4i 

43 

Leaning  upon  His  Breast, 

10 

47 

"  Let  Me  Go," 

I  IO 

59 

Lend  a  Hand, 

29 

36 

Legend  of  a  Leaf, 

1  06 

96 

108 

My  Room, 

12 

I25 

Motherhood, 

49 

My  Bird, 

77 

69 

Mabel, 

70 

88 

Mattie, 

75 

My  Words, 

67 

40 

Ministry, 

82 

52 

My  Message, 

90 

93 

109 

Not  Lost, 

67 

»  31 

95 

Only  a  Song, 

i 

One  by  One, 

21 

102 

One  Year  Ago, 

62 

Out  of  the  Depths, 

25 

III 

One  Sabbath, 

86 

121 

Ode  to  the  Church, 

112 

66 

Our  Message, 

123 

53 

Pearls  of  Peace, 

37 

»3 

Pray  for  Me, 

104 

Passing  By, 

124 

83 

Peace, 

81 

2 

Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

42 

17 

Retrospection, 

35 

22    Sabbath  Hymn, 

85 

INDEX. 


Sixty-first  Psalm, 

28    The  Transfigured  Cross, 

94 

State  Song, 

27 

The  True  Vine, 

114 

Sometime  To-morrow, 

120 

The  Celestial  Psalm, 

32 

The  Flight  of  Ramona, 

117 

Tire  Love  of  God, 

IOI 

To  Our  Father, 

122 

The   Way  of   the  Trans- 

The Tenth  of  May, 

lOJ 

gressor, 

II 

The  Desire  of  To-day, 

5 

Until  the  Day  Dawn, 

85 

Two  Faces, 

14 

The  Hindoo  Girl, 

J7 

What   Wilt   Thou   Have 

The  Lilies, 

T9 

Me  to  Do  ? 

60 

Through  the  Mists, 

20 

True  Happiness, 

24 

Your  Life  Work, 

7 

True  Love, 

2 

The  River, 

22 

On  the  Heights, 

The  Isle  of  Manisees, 

99 

An  Allegory, 

129 

The  Eagle, 

45 

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